


Holy Terror

by voxel



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 3
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Death, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Physical Abuse, Slave Trade, Time Skips
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-27
Updated: 2018-04-18
Packaged: 2018-05-29 03:56:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 23,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6358060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voxel/pseuds/voxel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the only way to exist in a world full of frightening things is to become the bigger monster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Fair warning: The main character in this story is violent. She is flawed deeply and does things that are very bad.

The sharp scent of gasoline filled the air, overpowering everything else. Her lips grew thin as a smile stretched across her face. The sensation felt odd. For months she had either been crying or completely numb. But this _power_ was intoxicating. It breathed new life into her bruised body and broken ego. Hearing the gagging coughs of the man beneath her, the girl pulled away from those thoughts. “Master,” she sang playfully. “You look so afraid. Are you?”

He did not answer. The man simply stared back, eyes wide. Gripping the gas can tightly, she hoisted it above his head once more. Slowly, she trickled it over his face, focusing the stream onto his nose and mouth. After a few seconds he went back to coughing.

“I know. I know. It can be overwhelming.” Her voice sounded gentle and sweet, almost as if she were talking to someone or something she held dear. “If you had been good, we wouldn't have to do this, Master.”

Setting the can down forcefully, she got up off of him. While the man was fully clothed, a pair of glasses was all she wore. Her wrists were heavily bruised, and a weeping wound ran from just above her left eye down to her collarbone—the eye itself dead. She was thin; her once tanned skin had grown quite pale; and where there had been long brown hair, now matted clumps on the right and her bloodied and scabbed scalp on the left.

A tuneless hum resonated throughout the room. The sound of her voice was odd, even to her own ears. It bordered on a parody of how a child might sound when trying to speak like an adult. Back turned to him, the girl carried on the song with no direction, eyes darting from shelf to shelf in search of something. She held no worries about the man escaping. Unlike her owner, she excelled at tying knots.

“Where are they? They have to be over—Oh!” And there it was. A small box of matches. Contents rattling lightly as she pulled it from the shelf, the man began to breathe heavily. “Don’t get so excited,” she giggled. “We aren’t quite ready to do that.”

Tossing the matches onto a threadbare armchair, she resumed her position on the man’s torso and wrenched his head up by the hair on his left temple. Still her voice remained gentle. “I’m not done playing yet.”

Gripping tightly, she tugged until a fistful ripped from his scalp. A quick yelp burst from the man’s throat. She tossed the hair aside and grabbed for another fistful. Then another.

“You don't look so pretty anymore.”

He sputtered a few times, then began to groan painfully, “Please—”

“I didn’t say you could _talk_!” Picking up a nearby drinking glass, she bashed it against his face. Blood pooled in the hollow of his cheek. Glass shards splintered into her hand, but she couldn’t feel it. The adrenaline high was enough to deaden any pain at that point.

“But we had fun.” He forced a pained smile. “Don't you remember all the fun we had?”

Her breathing grew shallow and quick. In a flash of rage she screamed out, slapping his bloodied face. There had never been any fun for her. Since leaving the vault, every moment of her existence had been absolute torture. The _things_ he did to her were inhuman. Any story about monsters in closets or under beds could never have prepared her for this. And after so many days and weeks and months, the only conclusion she came to was that in order to get away, to survive, she had to become a more terrifying monster.

“Fun?! You want fun?!” Forcing his mouth open, she emptied the remaining gasoline into it, then blocked both his mouth and nose. Still lethargic from the doses of Med-X she administered, he hardly even struggled. _Gulp._

Jumping up, she grabbed the little match box. Playing with him had gotten old quick and it was time to end this. However, when she slid the box open she was not expecting to see all the matches within had been lit before. Useless sticks were all that remained.

Murmuring unintelligibly, she began to search the rest of the room in a panic. A low, sluggish chuckle came from the man followed by strained coughing.

Cabinet doors were thrown open, shelves cleared of everything in single sweeps of her arm. She kicked through the small piles, looking for anything that could spark. Useless, all of it. Nearly on the verge of hyperventilating, she saw a small battery roll away from the mess she created. She picked it up then tore into the kitchen. _Steel wool._ It was almost comical. He had supplied her with it a few weeks prior to clean all of the pots and pans. How fortuitous.

The girl bounded back into the room where her owner lay coughing. Pressing the wool on either end of the battery, it ignited. Careful to not burn herself, she used the kindling to set one of the matchsticks alight. Enough sulfur remained on the end of the stick to cause a small spark before the flame steadied. She leaned down and, in a much different, husky voice, whispered, “Isn’t this so much fun?”

“N-no! No no! Please, no!”

With a flick or her wrist she tossed the match into the gasoline surrounding the man’s head.

The girl watched as the fumes ignited. The moment went on for an eternity. A series of frames playing in slow motion and on a constant loop. And with his first cry, she began to laugh. It was not the reaction she expected to have. Truthfully, she didn’t know what to expect, but it was all she had. And all that mattered was that she won. Finally. Months of building up the chemical burn on her face. Threatening to set her on fire for speaking out of turn or crying too much. Pulling out her hair when she didn’t do what he wanted, exactly how he wanted, and exactly when he wanted. It was over. He was the broken toy, not her.

Smoke and the smell of burning flesh enveloped the room, but it wasn’t time to leave. Not yet. She wanted to see the end. And before long the screams of agony dissipated. So too did her laughter end, only to be replaced by low sobs and hiccuping for air. And tossing a heavy blanket over his corpse, she smothered the flames.

 

*

 

Her belongings had been stored in a small train case her Master kept in his bedroom. Tears still streaming down her cheeks, she raced for her things, stopping in the bathroom for the first aid kit on her way out. It didn’t have much in the way of bandages and antibiotics, but it did have a supply of something she desperately needed. Med-X. She could already feel the fever setting in. It had been far too long since her last dosage, but she couldn’t risk being doped just yet. She had to get ready to leave this place.

Stepping out into the hall, the girl carefully listened for anyone else that might be there. Silence. Hesitantly taking a few steps away from the door, she made her way to the stairwell. Once inside she opened up the case and began removing her belongings.

Save for a bit of dirt around the bottom of the legs, her jumpsuit looked nearly pristine. Turning the garment over in her hands, she eyed the large yellow numbers on the back. 37. On the inside was sewn a hand embroidered tag with her name on it. Fingers stroking the embroidery floss, she thought of the time not so long ago when people called her something other than “Girl”. But that name felt tainted. It made her throat burn with bile. The people that knew it...

_Momma. Is Momma okay?_

After the raiders sold all the young people, it seemed unlikely anyone remaining would be let go. She staved off the urge to vomit. Thinking about the bad things that may have happened was not an option right then. There were more pressing matters to attend to. Food. Water. The unfortunate reality that she was going to run out of Med-X and go through worse withdrawals if she didn’t find a larger supply fast.

The girl pulled on the jumpsuit. Had it always been that soft? Wrapping her own arms around her body, she hugged the fabric closer and for a moment she felt at home. _No. There’s no time for this._ She reached back into the train case and pulled out her boots. Luckily her socks were still stuffed inside.

Once fully clothed she picked up her last belonging, her Pip-Boy. It weighed more than she remembered. Toying with the biometric lock, a wave of nausea hit her. After several minutes of dry heaving, she forced herself to put on the Pip-Boy. The boot screen hung as it picked up her vitals for the first time in many months. _Concussion! Multiple Abrasions! Dehydration! Malnourishment! Med-X Addiction! Med-X Withdrawal!_

“Thank you, Vault-Tec, for that expedient summation of my problems. Makes them seem so trivial and easy to—” Her body lurched forward again as another fit of nausea overwhelmed her.

Throwing open the lid of the first aid kit, she pulled out a syringe and vial. This couldn’t wait anymore. All she needed was enough to get her back on her feet and away from this place. Sleeve rolled up and needle ready, she waited for her body to calm down.

Right arm. Slowly the plunger moved down the barrel. A cool sensation radiated from the injection site. It always made her fingertips tingle and vision blur slightly. She tossed the needle aside and put the syringe back in the kit with the vial. Wherever she found Med-X, there’d have to be needles too. And maybe some antibiotics or something to help with the scars on her arms and head.

Closing the kit, the girl stood and peeked back down the hall at the apartment door. This was it. Eight months of that place was enough for one lifetime. She navigated to the map on her Pip-Boy and made a note of her current location— _Hell on Earth._

 

*

 

Warmth. The sun felt so warm. It felt kind. Having spent all her life in a vault up until recent history, the warmth was really quite surprising. No amount of artificial light could ever compare to this feeling. It was far beyond what she imagined. Eyes finally adjusting to the brightness, she took in her surroundings.

The outside world was jarring for her. She only assumed her owner chose to live in squalor. But it became obvious that “squalor” was no longer a useful word outside of the vault. A thick layer of rubble, dust, and pre-war nostalgia coated this place. Advertisements for nuclear powered everything plastered the faces of gigantic buildings fallen into disrepair. Some half destroyed. Some wholly.

She pulled up the satellite image on her Pip-Boy, looking for anything that might be a medical center. Surely they’d be large with enormous parking lots for all those pre-war vehicles. To the East was something that looked promising.

“Four? Five miles?” The girl looked in the direction of her destination. “Better than hanging around here.”

After just a few minutes it was evident her boots were not meant for trekking over and through all this wreckage. Admittedly, vault floors were very clean, and never really had the problem of uneven surfaces. Nor centuries-old dead bodies. And not so old bodies. Perhaps she’d pass a department store on the way. Probably wouldn’t hurt to look around for some food as well. While canned goods weren’t in fact still good after two hundred years—her first truly rude awakening after leaving her vault—they were better than an empty stomach.

She paused to look at her map and make sure she was still on course, but also to check if anything resembling a department or grocery store were on the way. While she was at it, the girl flipped over to her radio. Hoping she might find an emergency broadcast, she was instead met with the loud screech of static. Quickly she dialed down the volume, before searching for a live station.

“What do we have here? Hey, little girl!”

A woman’s voice called from behind her. The girl flipped off her radio. But when she turned to see the woman, her blood ran cold. This was not someone she should be talking to _at all_. The woman's eyes were wide and despite looking straight at the girl, they were distant. A baseball bat wrapped in razor wire raised to point at the girl. The woman’s white knuckle grip on the weapon frightened the girl, but not nearly as much as what appeared to be the remnants of someone’s viscera hanging from the razor wire. “Little girl, you wanna play!?”

She bolted for a nearby alleyway. Damn that radio static! Damn that stupid dial for being turned all the way up!

“Get back here, you little bitch!”

The woman gave chase. Ducking into another alley, the girl tried to remain as quiet as possible as she ran. The sound of the bat knocking against turned over trash cans and brick walls echoed from behind. _Not now. Not this soon after I got my life back!_ She wove in between more alleyways, crossing paths she’d already taken, doubling back.

The woman howled wildly, no longer in the immediate vicinity. Quietly, carefully, the girl padded down a corridor made by a toppled building. She could still hear the woman yelling, but it wasn’t clear what about. Had she found someone else? At that point the girl didn’t care. As long as it wasn’t her, she wouldn’t bat an eyelash at some unknown person’s misery.

“I’m gonna find you, you little bitch!” The woman sounded closer once more. Easier to understand “And when I do, I’m gonna play kickball with your ugly fucking head!”

Fingers grazing the wound on her face, the girl fought back the urges to both cry and lash out in anger. _I’ll show you ugly. I’ll burn you like I burned_ —

A gnarled hand gripped her shoulder, and a gruff voice whispered into the girl’s ear, “Kid, we gotta go!”

His features were warped from severe radiation burns. And if it weren’t for being conditioned to not scream by her owner, the girl would have. Anger held for that woman continued to wash over her, now being projected towards this stranger. People from the outside couldn’t be trusted. That was the only truth she knew. He could have a bat covered in razor wire too. Or worse. “ _Don’t_ touch me!”

He let go of her arm, but again said, “Kid, we really gotta go!”

The girl scowled at him.

“I ain’t no match for that raider or her friends! Come with me or don’t!”


	2. Saint

The sun dipped behind some clouds, washing the city in a layer of cool grays. They had been walking at a pretty decent pace for awhile. She was getting tired. Her body wasn’t used to this level of activity and it didn’t help that she hadn’t had a good meal in a very long time. Eating those disgust mirelurk cakes her owner forced fed her was hardly a meal, never mind good. She wanted vegetables. She wanted those soy-based chicken strips the nice lady in the cafeteria gave her. Gurgling, her stomach agreed fervently. _Not now._

Growing ever more irritated, the girl yelled to the man, “Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Away from raider territory. Why?” he laughed. “Got a meeting?”

“I was going to a hospital, when you decided to hijack me and my time.”

The man turned around to face her. “Look, I know you don’t know me, but I promise I’m just trying to lead you away from the bad guys.” Stepping onto the only bit of sidewalk not covered in debris, he slung his pack around and started to dig through it. “A hospital? Which direction was it you were headed?”

Staring at the ground, the girl chewed on the inside of her cheek a little before answering. “Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but east.”

He shook his head. “Kid, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. And there ain’t no hospital over there, at least not for another hundred miles or so. But I can get you to one.”

“Great. What do you want? Money? My body? I gather there is some expected payment for services rendered.”

“No. Nothing like that.” He offered her a bottle of water. When she didn't take it, the man placed it on the ground near her. “What’s your name, kid?” The girl remained silent. “You're not really cooperative, huh? That's alright. Mind if I keep on calling you ‘kid’?”

Prodding at the bottle with the toe of her boot, she muttered, “That’s fine…”

“I'm Henry. Ain’t much to look at, as you might have noticed. Most people call folks like me ghouls. Personally, I prefer my name.” His voice, though very rough and raspy, was gentle. “You seem like you're pretty new to this scenery. Can I offer you some advice?”

The girl raised her eyes to look at him. If he said one word about looking on the bright side, she was going to cold clock him.

“That vault look you got going for you puts a huge target on your back. Unless you're looking for a fight, I’d find something else to wear. And stash that fancy little computer of yours in a bag. Raiders love you vaulties. Looks like one already got a hold of you before.”

“He didn't look like that woman. He dressed nice. Paid some people a lot of money for me. What a fantastic purchase that ended up being!”

“Scum is scum. Doesn't matter what you call it or how it looks.” Henry nodded towards a sheltered alleyway nearby. “Let’s stop here for now. I ain’t going into a dark hospital at night. Too many things you could trip on.”

The girl remained in that spot for a moment, watching as Henry walked away. Mind racing and teeth clenched, she considered simply walking off. What good would sticking around him do? But she was also desperate to be in the company of anyone. And as long as he wasn't trying anything weird, maybe it was okay to stick around. So picking up the water bottle, she started following again.

“You hungry?” He asked as she caught up to him. “I don't usually cook at night, but we should be safe lighting a fire here. You know how to start a fire?”

The girl stifled a laugh, then nodded. She set to work gathering splintered bits of two-by-four, brittle newspapers, and ruined books. It wasn’t much, but what she could find was enough to burn for an hour or so. Meanwhile, Henry had set out a few cans and was carefully opening them with a rusted can opener. _Please be good food. Nothing fishy._

Henry must have read her thoughts as he called out, “I have green beans and baked beans. So I hope you like beans. Actually, even if you don't, I suggest learning to like them. There about all that's still good in a can.”

 _Fine by me,_ she thought as she knelt down to begin building the fire. She had seen in an adventure novel once how the kindling and tinder were arranged just so. Therefore, that's what she emulated. And before she could reach for the battery and steel wool in her pack, Henry had already tossed her a matchbook.

“If you ever need matches, look for a pizza joint, diner, or pool hall. They always have ‘em.”

Lighting a strip of newspaper, she filed that away as decent information. _But what's a pool hall?_

Henry sat the cans near the carefully constructed stack of wood and paper as it caught fire. “Did they have Vault Scouts or something? Nice job, kid.”

She didn’t know why he was impressed, but the silence that followed was welcome. For a long time the cans heated near the flames. Henry thumbed through a small book he pulled from his pocket, nodding to himself every so often. And the girl sat and enjoyed her freshly acquired autonomy while the smell of dinner taunted her stomach.

Considering what Henry had said about her Pip-Boy, she fiddled with the biometric lock. The thing was bulky anyway. And the girl never cared to wear it when doing anything hands-on. It wouldn’t hurt to take it off for now. So she unlocked the wrist brace, and placed it in her bag.

Henry peeked out from behind his book, smiling.

“You see something amusing?”

“Not at all. Just glad it’s time to eat.” He set his book aside, handed the girl a spoon, then proceeded to grab one of the cans and place it close to her. “I wouldn't touch the can for a few minutes. It's pretty hot. But the beans should be a good temperature.”

She nodded before stirring them up and taking a bite. It was the first warm meal she’d had in quite sometime. And not just table scraps—a full can of food for her. The girl kept watching Henry, though. His movements were quiet and that made her nervous.

Crackling, the fire spit out a few cinders that floated up into the sky before dying out.

“How’d you get out of your vault? Aren’t most of those things sealed up tight?”

“About—” she shoveled a few more spoonfuls of beans into her mouth “— _mmph_ —about fifty years ago it unlocked on it’s own. The Overseer's terminal apparently deemed our experiment a success.”

“What was the experiment?”

“I’m not sure. How much radiation did you soak up to get your beautiful, glowing complexion?” she bit back.

Henry let out a long sigh and set aside his dinner. “I was born way back before the Great War. Married my high school sweetheart, Rita. We were about to move out to the New England Commonwealth but the bombs dropped before we even had a chance to pack the moving truck. Rita died pretty quickly. I wasn’t so lucky. It’s like the worst bout of flu you’ve ever had mixed with feeling like you’re on fire. Now. If my question offended you, I am sorry. I’m just trying to make friendly conversation.”

She chewed on the inside of her cheek. “We were like a sad, living butterfly collection. The government wanted us cataloged and monitored. Picked apart until all that remained was a blank slate and homogenized genes. Most of our immune systems were fucked. But that hardly matters now because they're—” The girl gagged.

“Jesus, kid. Does the food taste that bad?”

She began to vomit violently. It had been too long. Throwing aside the food, she delved into her things for the vial of Med-X. Henry’s stare burned into her as she prepped the syringe. Frantically, she explained, “All I want is to go to a hospital, then find a Vault-Tec facility and get back home. I don't need some nosy vagrant throwing me a pity party so he can feel like a saint.”

She plunged the needle into her arm, flashing him an indignant scowl.

“You got a chem dependency? Damn, kid. I’d tell you to kick it, but I got my own vices.” Henry pulled a little inhaler out of his pocket and shook it a few times before wrapping his lips around the mouthpiece and depressing the canister. “So we’re making a Med-X run?”

Leaning back onto the pavement, it took her a few moments to process the question, but eventually she mumbled, “Yeah. A Med-X run.”

Henry chuckled. “All you had to do was say so.”

Her face grew pallid, and Henry began to fade away. The girl sat in a state of stupor for a time. The anger and disappointment went somewhere else as the numbness set in. She could hate herself for feeling relief later. Right now she was just glad to not feel as sick. And maybe tomorrow they’d get everything she was hoping to find.

“...I need Med-X. Clean needles. Something for my skin. A functioning computer with directions to 37… and… and I want those soy-based chicken strips the cafeteria had. My bed.”

Murmuring quietly, the girl continued to list out things she desired. Henry interjected a few times—“A milkshake. The sound of traffic. Rita.”—before going quiet himself.

The little fire continued to crackle and pop, illuminating their veiled alleyway. She wasn’t safe. She wasn’t happy. But she was, and that would have to be enough.

 

**

 

“Wake up, sunshine.”

The gravely voice startled the girl. Shooting bolt upright, she blinked the sleep out of her eyes and assessed her surroundings. When did she fall asleep? In a panic, she investigated her clothing and things. Everything seemed to be fine. Then, turning a sour face towards the man, she studied him. _Who is… that nosy man. Henry._

“Take your Med-X. We got a bit of a walk.”

Wrinkling her nose at how casually he said it, the girl considered ignoring him. But her better judgement took precedence. He was right. So she swallowed all that anger and pride, and decided to cooperate. And before long they were on the road towards St. Francis Hospital.

The journey itself didn’t take terribly long. Henry had insisted on a winding path the closer they got. Evidently it was common for raiders and other undesirables to watch for any unarmed idiot to mosey in through the front doors of a hospital (another nugget of wisdom Henry bestowed upon her, whether she liked it or not). However, all the girl saw was more of the same pre-war debris. Not another living thing was around.

Carefully, they edged their way around the side of the hospital to the emergency entrance. A barrier of overgrown bushes kept the doors obscured from any prying eyes and made it next to impossible to get inside.

Once inside, Henry reached into his jacket and pulled out a pistol that had certainly seen better days. “Do you know how to shoot a gun?”

“Theoretically? Yes.”

He rubbed his eyes. “You know how a flashbang works?”

“Again, theoretically. Not a lot of warfare waged inside of my vault.” The girl stared at him for a moment then sighed. “You pull a pin. Toss. Close your eyes and cover your ears.”

Handing her a grenade from his pack, Henry looked her dead in the eye. “You run the opposite way and cover your ears. And the moment you find somewhere to hide, you hide.”

“I'm not a replacement for a dead person,” she spit, glowering at the thought.

“Kid, you...” Henry took a deep breath and paused. His shoulders seemed to take on an invisible weight the longer the silence lasted. Clearing his throat, he looked away before repeating, “You hide.”

The girl grit her teeth. Deep down, the remaining fragments of her previous self knew he was just trying to be kind, but that person didn't have agency anymore. That was what she told herself anyway. And she sure as hell wasn't about to become some project for this guy to feel whole again. “Yeah. Hide. Got it.”

“Good.” Henry stepped into the lobby and motioned for her to follow. “I'm gonna scav for scrap. If you find anything valuable, feel free to throw it my way.”

Looking around at the heaps of rubble and waste, she wasn't exactly sure what Henry was hoping to find. Seemed like none of this garbage was worth much. Even the metal bits couldn’t be worth the resources to melt down. But whatever the case, she was here thanks to him, so she’d try to find something of value.

Henry pointed at a map on the wall behind the reception desk. The girl nodded and gave it a quick once over. It appeared the pharmacy was just around the corner. _Med-X, needles, triple ointment. Med-X, needles, triple ointment_ , over and over she said it to herself as she walked towards the pharmacy. Not just a reminder, but a prayer to find what she needed.

Glass crunched under her feet as she stepped over a box full of patient files holding the door open. Empty bottles and used blister packs littered the floors and countertops. This place had been thoroughly picked over long ago. Jaw clenched, the girl began digging through the upper cabinets. _Please. Anything._ Hope was not something she had an abundance of, but what little she had was waning with each cabinet she opened.

 _This is pointless_ , she thought, opening up the next cabinet. At the very top was a small box she couldn't quite reach. Luckily some of the junk nearby made for a good tool to coax the box down. And when she opened it, the girl let out a long sigh of relief. Syringes and single use needles.

Nothing else of use was in the upper cabinets. However, one of the lower cabinets had a large stash of pills, first aid equipment, and some vials. She filled her bag with antiseptic and the pills she knew would reduce fever. At the very least she could try to weather the withdrawals that would be coming. But all the little vials had names she didn’t recognize. Or the labels were too damaged to decipher what they might be.

“I don’t know what these do…” Her face screwed up, but the grimace soon turned into a look of complete hopelessness. Throwing her pack to the floor, the girl slammed her fists onto the countertop then sat down next to her things. Back pressed against one set of cabinets, she played idly with those directly across from her.

The look on her mother’s face, the one right before those raiders had placed a bag over her head, had been etched into the girl’s mind. And she could see it so clearly right then. Somewhere in that warped melamine door, her mother was staring in horror, ready to scream out in anguish at what had become of her daughter.

“Momma…”

Over and over she kicked her heel into the cabinet door in front of her. It’s hinges gave way and still she kicked, putting a sole shaped dent into a ream of paper before stopping. There was nothing else here. Nothing but baby aspirin, cotton swabs, and rubbing alcohol. What a waste of time.

She picked herself up and wandered back out into the hall, taking the box of patient files with her. If she had to live in this hellhole of a world, it was time to pick a name other than “girl”. Maybe there was something good in there. Or maybe it was a moot point. She found it difficult to put much more thought into it beyond just doing it.

With a loud thud, the box was hoisted onto the reception desk. Shaking out her arms, the girl reminded herself to not overestimate her own strength anymore. _I don’t suppose Heracles is a good name for me._

She eyeballed the second floor awning wondering what might be up there. The stairs were covered in papers and all manner of broken glass, splintered wood and a few twisted metal beams. Carefully, the girl considered her route. If she slipped, it wouldn't feel good in the slightest. In fact, it could end poorly. But sating her curiosity was better than wallowing in self-pity. Stepping lightly, she ascended. And when she got to the top, her day started getting better.

Cradled next to the skeleton of a nurse, was a little pink radio. The girl picked it up and looked it over. It had a few scratches, but the housing seemed to be in good shape. Hopefully the insides weren't too bad either. Not that she could check right then. But maybe Henry had some tools.

She carried on after stashing the radio. Access to either wing of the hospital was made inaccessible by debris or the floor being full of holes, but there was a fair amount of space to explore in this upper lobby area. And, unfortunate as it might have been, a lot of bodies she could loot. Most of them appeared to be long dead soldiers, probably here on a far too late evacuation effort.

For the most part their pockets were empty, aside from a few coins. But one of the soldiers was lying on top of an old lunchbox full of caps. _Surely he could use these._

The intermittent creaking of the floor made her increasingly aware of how unsound this building had become over time. Perhaps it was better to explore the lower lobby. But as she reached the stairs she saw something that was hidden from her on the way up. A box of ammo. She swiped it up and tiptoed gingerly down the stairs.

“This has to be better than scrap,” she said, leaning against the reception desk. A smile crept onto her lips for a moment. But the thought of her soon to be exhausted Med-X supply popped into her thoughts once more. She needed to kick that dependency. It was going to be difficult. And she wasn’t sure she could do it without a lifeline. Maybe Henry…

_It’s not his business. You don’t know him. He might not even be what he’s leading you to believe. You can’t trust anyone anymore._

Her chest hurt and the thoughts in her head were incredibly difficult to bear. So picking up the box of patient files, she sat down on the floor and tried not to think at all. But that proved very difficult as the tears began to fall.

Henry sat two boxes full of vials next to her. “These were on a cart in the hallway. Figured you might want them.”

Letting out a small laugh, she wiped her eyes. “Of course. Why would they be in the pharmacy when they could be in the hall?” She reached over and handed him the box of ammo and caps she had found. “I wasn't sure what would be useful to you.”

“No, this is great! I didn't have anything in particular in mind. Quite a windfall.” He knelt down across from her and picked up one of the patient files. “Some light reading?”

She straightened up and cleared her throat. “I thought maybe I should pick a new name for myself. Fresh start.”

“What? You don't like 'kid’?” Henry opened up the file he was holding and grimaced. “Well… whatever you choose, I must advise against 'Gertrude’. Not my favorite.”

The girl stuck her tongue out and made a disgusted noise. “Yeah, I don’t think that is to my liking either. But maybe there’s something here.”

Henry nodded to her, pulling out his book again. “I’ll leave you to it then, but we should get out of here soon. The scum is probably starting to wake up.”

She hummed an acknowledgement and started looking through files.

The air in the hospital was stagnant. It made it difficult to focus for long. Even having been outside of her vault for the better part of the year, she still found the lack of recycled air and low hum of electricity unnerving. If there were any established cities or towns with power, that’s where she wanted to be. Not here in this silence. Not with all these thoughts that could come sneaking in so easily.

 _No._ Another file was discarded.

Sharon. _No._ Helen. _Too close to my actual name._ Theadora. _What? No._

She tossed aside a few more files and grabbed more at random.

Whitney. _Who names their kid Whitney?_ Maria, Doris, Judith. _No. No. No._ Charlotte. _Hmm._

She rolled the name over a few times in her mind, mouthing it silently. Even if she did like the feminine sound it had to it, the girl ultimately decided it was a bit too fancy.

Tossing aside the file, the she fiddled with the radio. “Do you have a screwdriver?”

“No. But there’s a maintenance closet in the giftshop. Need to do some shopping?”

“I think that would be wise.”

“Don’t sweat the name thing. Enjoy your shopping trip, kid.”

 

*

 

The gift shop was an absolute mess compared to lobby area, which was saying a lot with all the trash out there. Though, she did note the personal hygiene section had be left pretty much untouched. “Do people not have time to keep clean? Or is it a conscious decision to neglect one's cleanliness? Disgusting.”

She set an armful of toiletries on the counter then opened the maintenance closet. A screwdriver was the prize, but when she walked it, it was obvious the girl had set her sights far too low. “A multi-tool!”

Unscrewing, then popping open the back of the radio, she looked at the insides. It had no batteries, and could use a little cleaning up, but it looked to be in pretty good condition. The batteries in her bag were the right size. All she needed to do was try them. She gave the radio a shake and heard some rattling. “Please be some unnecessary plastic piece, floating around, and not a blown speaker.”

It didn’t matter what was wrong with the radio. She would fix it completely when she found the right components. But, all things considered, it would be nice if no in depth repairs were required.

Multi-tool in hand, she swung by the counter and began to pick up all of her toiletries when she spied a pamphlet.

 _All About Our Hospital_ _  
_ _St. Francis_

 

*

 

“I got it!” she called out gleefully.

“You got what?”

“Francine.” She tossed the pamphlet she had nabbed in the gift shop at Henry, then started digging around her bag for those batteries. “I guess he went blind. I'm halfway there.”

Henry smiled. “You have a very dark sense of humor, kid. Francine sounds great. Your nickname could be Fran. Or Franny. Maybe Frankie.”

She made a sour face as she turned the radio’s power on. “Never Fran or Franny. But _Frankie_?”

“Yeah. Frankie suits you just fine. Sounds like the name of gal that gets things done.” He handed back the pamphlet and chuckled a little. “So what's next for Frankie?”

“I need to find a Vault-Tec facility. Probably one of their regional offices. Not sure an actual vault would have the information I need.”

Scratching his chin, Henry thought for a moment. “I think there’s a Vault-Tec building in Kansas City. I can take you there, but I’m not getting too close to the city itself. And you shouldn’t either. But if it’s what you need, I can get you there.”

Francine knew he was right. But she also knew she wouldn’t be able to rest easy without knowing for sure what happened to her vault. “If you can get me to the outskirts, I’ll give you this fine radio.” Holding it out, as to display it, she fiddled with the knobs. Varying degrees of static and dead air came out through the blown speaker. Nodding her head knowingly, she deadpanned, “Pre-war music was so refined,”

Clapping her on the back, Henry laughed.

But rather than continue in the merriment, Francine dropped the radio and gave him a hard shove, screaming, “ _Don’t_ touch me!” Body shaking violently, she backed away from him.

“Kid? Francine?” Henry watched cautiously. She looked terrified and so angry.

Not knowing why she reacted in such a way, Francine could hardly meet his gaze.

Softly, he said, “You need help. And I don't think it's me that can help you...”

“Okay,” she whispered. Her knees buckled and she sunk to the ground. The deafening beat of her heart filled her ears. If Henry was talking, she couldn’t hear it. _What’s wrong with me? Why did I do that?_ Francine dug into her bag for the Med-X, praying this was something she could fix with chemicals. However, her hand brushed against the grenade and she pulled it out instead. “Thanks for this,” her voice wavered, “but it turns out I needed it eight months ago.”

“No, you keep that.” Rustling through his own pack, he set a few cans of food near her. “These too. You should avoid the cities. Be smart. You seem smart.”

Nodding, Francine squeezed her eyes shut and wished him, along with the entire world, away. She wasn’t meant to be here.


	3. Sideshow

“Look at her run! Haha! Those legs won't be getting you much further.”

Francine sat back on a fire escape, watching a group of raiders run down some woman that accidentally stumbled into their camp. This scene was getting familiar, and had played out many times since arriving in what was left of Kansas City several weeks ago.

It wasn't what she expected. Francine was hoping for some level of infrastructure. But from what she gathered, that was off limits to her. The city center, where society thrived, was not something she could see up close due to the high levels of radiation. What she experienced out here was lawless gangs, terrorizing people that got too close. However, slinking around the outskirts had provided her with more than enough salvage to fix her radio and gave her a few changes of clothes. Food and water were another problem, though. And unless that woman had a lot of well hidden cans of pork and beans on her, Francine's food problem was going to be dire.

The raiders kicked at the woman's lifeless limbs a few times before dispersing. Though, one stayed behind and began looting.

 _Fuck. There goes that idea._ She continued to watch, curious to see what she would miss out on. A couple of caps. Some scrap metal. Nothing she wanted anyway. Slowly rising to her feet, Francine stretched a little before taking a few steps back up the fire escape.

“Hey? Hey, you. Girl with the glasses!”

Francine froze and turned her eyes towards him.

The raider smiled, shaking a half empty water bottle. “Thirsty? She don't need it.”

Though the offer was tempting, it was not one she felt desperate enough to take at that point. “Get fucked.”

“Oh! So you want something else? I can give you something else.” He made a series of vulgar gestures.

Rolling her eyes, Francine lingered on the steps to see what else he had to say or do. The danger seemed minimal, as long as she was up here and he was down there. He hadn't alerted the rest of his friends to her presence. And there didn’t appear to be any ranged weapons on his person. At least watching him was more amusing than staring at the wall of whatever abandoned building she was sleeping in.

“Entertain me,” _scumbag._

“You like shows? Alright. I’ll give you a show. Just a sec.” The raider held up a finger, then jogged back into an alleyway for a moment.

_What are you up to?_

Emerging with three beer bottles, he took a swig of one, then poured the rest out while making an exceptionally disgusted face. He swayed back and forth for a few seconds then tossed them up in the air and began juggling. A brief smirk appeared on Francine’s lips, but it wasn’t the stupid human trick with which she was amused. It was the chance that this guy might bust one of those bottles on his face.

Unfortunately, it became quite evident that wasn't going to happen. He was very good at throwing breakables. And she was actually impressed. She didn't have that level of coordination.

Soon Francine was drifting into deep thought, completely lost in herself. How did things like that hone or add to one's skills? Surely there had to be some practical application to it. It wasn't like people out here were clamouring for entertainment of this level, right?

“Kitty cat, you should come down from there.”

She forgot he was there. Slowly, his figure came back into focus.

Drawing his voice out in a long, playful manner, he called up to her again, “Kitty cat!”

“Kitty cat?” Bile rose to the back of her throat. “No. I don't think I will.”

“You should pay for the show.”

“I don't have money.”

“You got plenty of other things I like.” He jumped up and hung from the bottom landing of the fire escape. “I didn't even tell my pals you were here. Just you and me, kitty cat.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“No,” he grunted out, pulling himself up. “I like it.”

The back of her neck grew cold and clammy. Francine slowly backed away from the fire escape towards the roof access door. “I have to go.”

“I don't think you do. But I know you want to. How about we play a nice game? I give you a ten second lead to run or hide. If I catch you, we have an evening to ourselves. Just you and me.”

Francine's hand rested on the door handle. “And if I win?”

“You can't. Ten. Nine.”

Yanking at the door, she tore down the stairs. There was no time to get a good lead. There wasn’t even time to grab her things. Hopefully he’d leave them. Maybe he wouldn’t even notice them.

Francine skidded into a restroom on the bottom floor and tried to catch her breath. Eyes searching desperately for anything that could suffice as a weapon, they settled on some broken pipes sticking out of the wall. It looked like someone had already taken some for themselves. However, the sound of the raider’s voice echoing in the stairwell made her think better. She backed into a stall, nearly tripping over a dead body. A body that happened to have a pipe embedded in its skull.

A whistle came from a little ways outside the restroom, followed by the sound of something rolling towards her.

 _He’s taking my stuff!_ Pipe in hand, Francine peered out and watched as he pulled her Pip-Boy from the bag.

“She's one of those vault moles? Jackpot!”

As quietly as she could, Francine crept forward, hands shaking. The raider continued to pull items from her pack: clothing, water, her Med-X.

“Haha! Girl knows how to party! Hey, kitty cat?! You didn't tell me you use! Guess I didn't ask. How about we take some of this and see where—”

The distinct _ping_ of metal rang through the air. Francine reared back and hit him again. Each successive hit sent pain shooting through her wrists.

“I’m not your fucking _kitty cat_ , you piece of shit!”

A low gurgling sound came from him. One more hit and he stopped making noise altogether.

Tossing the pipe down, she sat next to him and freed the Med-X vial from his hand. After taking a moment to catch her breath, she began searching him. A knife, some ammo, and several caps were among the highlights. But above all, he had a gun. Francine couldn’t believe it. Her thoughts refused to venture down the avenues of “why” when it came to the raider not utilizing it. But she was thrilled to finally have something better than her “go to hell” glare and a flash bang.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the very short chapter that took me forever to put up here.


	4. Consume

The first time was an accident. It was late, and she had been scavenging homes in a subdivision, clearing out anything and everything she might find useful. But that night in particular had turned out to be quite the boon.

 

> Buzzing back and forth, Francine emptied the cabinet contents onto a kitchen island so that she could take stock. Vegetables she hadn’t seen in a long time. Meats that may not taste the best, but, if she heated them just so, were tolerable. Fruit cocktail and four cans of pineapple juice—those may have been the most wonderful things she could find at that time. So many choices, and easily enough food to see her through three weeks.
> 
> Before Francine ever considered packing any of the cans into her bag, she opened up one and scarfed it down. And then another. It was far too much, too quickly, but she was so hungry. And while her stomach wasn't used to that much food, it felt good to make that decision. To have the opportunity and the free will to make that decision, meant so much.
> 
> But perhaps that's where it really went wrong? Or right? Her already haphazard movements became completely unchecked while she danced around the kitchen island, dividing the cans into what she would leave and what she would take. And as she slid another can into the “leave it” pile, it strayed to one side and knocked over the kerosene lamp Francine had come to favor over her Pip-Boy light.
> 
> Glass shattered and a small wave of kerosene splashed across the floor, bringing with it flames. Francine scooped as many cans as she could into her backpack, loaded a few more in her arms, then ran outside.
> 
> She watched from the curb as the house quickly became enveloped in flames.
> 
> _That was so dumb. That could have been very bad. I could—_
> 
> A loud _pop_ came from inside the house and she jumped, then began to laugh. It didn't matter how bad it could have been. She was alive. Alive to enjoy another night.

 

A night like this night. And this time the fire would be on purpose.

Accelerants were easy enough to find. Most homes had a bottle of liquor, a vehicle no one had bothered to siphon gas out of, or there’d be some kerosene squirreled away in a hurricane lamp. And depending on the state of the house, it never really took much to get a substantial fire started. It offered some form of entertainment for her. She felt a little guilty for what she did. Someone’s memories, their home, everything left behind to say they once were, she destroyed it. But the guilt never lasted long. She mainly felt relief, excitement, maybe even joy just getting lost in that moment. Maybe it was a power thing. Francine wasn’t sure. But the sight of everything around her burning made her feel alive again.

Quietly, her Pip-Boy sang from her backpack. Some song she wasn't terribly familiar with about springtime. The melody lilted along playfully as she sifted through cabinets, dressers, and closets, making sure there was nothing left of value to her. Not much in the way of food, but the previous owners had generously left a large stash of liquor in the dining room.

One by one, she removed the bottles of vodka and scotch from the cabinet. Some of them were poured out around the perimeter of the first floor. Others she left in the bottle to explode once hot enough. And when she was satisfied with the setup, Francine grabbed the decanter and ripped a strip of fabric from the rather ornate table cloth.

“Thank you ever so much, Mr. and Mrs. Henderson, for inviting me.” Francine giggled, playing out the scene in her head while preparing the Molotov. “Before I go, I got you a little something. No, I won’t hear it. I _wanted_ to. Go on. Open it up.”

Careful to not get too much alcohol on herself, Francine soaked the strip of cloth then shoved it partway into the decanter. “I know you both love to entertain, and this just felt like the perfect housewarming gift.” Skipping out the door and down the steps to the front yard, she giggled once more as she pulled the lighter from her bag and lit the end of the cloth.

“I had a blast! Thanks again!”

The window shattered, and a plume of fire rose up.

Crossing the street, she climbed up the steps of another house and sat down on a porch swing. A gentle smile spread across her lips. Flames engulfed half of the “Henderson’s” house. And as a waft of smoke singed air drifted towards her, Francine started to hum along with her Pip-Boy.

_I should do this more often._

 

*

 

A fuzzy, electronic sounds came from down the street.

_A two-way radio?_

It sounded like the radios she played with when her dad was still alive. But when the sounds started getting closer, Francine opted to stop reminiscing and start hiding. The Pip-Boy was shut off, and she walked around the back of the house to keep out of sight while still listening. Three? No. Four people. Two had that tinny, electronic sound to their voice, while the other two were harder to understand, but had relatively normal voices. The cadence of the first two was too varied to be robotic. They were people. Or used to be people.

“You and Gibson take the block east of here. I’ll patrol this area with Warren. Rendezvous in an hour.”

Francine peeked at them. The metallic voices were coming from people in large metal armor. One of the others appeared to be a scout of some sort. His clothing looked lightweight. And the one giving orders was in that metal armor, but not wearing a helmet. They looked so clean and they were so well spoken. They probably had supplies and some form of society. Her bag was light again. Maybe they’d help?

 _They might search me._ Francine pulled the gun from her bag and stashed it inside a downspout.

She continued to watch the scout. Had that man called him Warren? As he broke away from the leader, Francine started following him. Warren looked the least intimidating. She’d try talking to him.

As Warren wove between houses, occasionally going inside, Francine kept a safe distance. Watching for any sign of the person he was. Hoping her efforts in following him weren’t wasted when she could have been well on her way to finding somewhere to sleep for the night. Again he slipped inside another house up the street and she waited in a side yard.

Several long minutes passed, and there was still no sign of Warren. Worried that she had missed her opportunity, Francine jogged out from the yard and started to head across the street.

“What do you think you’re doing? Answer me, wastrel!”

Francine’s heart lodged in her throat, as she spun around. The man that appeared to be in charge towered over her. “I-I—”

“Spit it out! Why are you following us?”

“I'm hungry. I’ll pay for it. For food. I'm good at repairs. A-anything you need fi—”

“ _I_ don't need sloppy repairs done by some little girl.” He pointed to her bag. “Dump it out.”

Francine’s urge was to yell _why_ , but before she could even draw the breath to ask, Henry's words came back to her. _Scum is scum. Doesn’t matter what you call it or how looks._ This had been a grave error on her part.

“I will not ask a third time. Dump it out!”

“You didn't ask a first time, fuckface. That would require you to—” Staggering backwards, Francine’s skin began to burn and a sharp ache radiated all across her cheek.

He tore the bag from Francine’s back and dumped its meager contents out.

“What does a scavenger need a radio for?” His heel dug into the brittle, plastic frame, breaking it apart. “No radio stations in these parts aside from Brotherhood frequencies. An idiot like you doesn’t need to be listening in.”

Next he placed her food in his own satchel and dumped her water out.

Tears welled up in Francine’s eyes. He wasn't just scum. He was top tier scum.

“Wait. You're not a scavenger.” A cruel chuckle rumbled in his throat as he moved aside an atlas to pick up her Pip-Boy. “You're one of those glorified lab rats. What was the experiment? Wait. Don’t tell me. They wanted to make ugly little girls?”

Before she could respond, he kicked the first aid kit towards her. “Useless. It's all expired. But don't worry, I have plenty of good medicine back at the bunker. I’ll be just fine.”

Francine’s gaze remained on her Pip-Boy. His fingers toyed with the biometric lock, threatening to crush the delicate pieces used to confirm the owner. She didn't know how to bypass that without schematics. And she wasn't going to find schematics until she got to a Vault-Tec building.

“Oh, you want this back?”

“You don't need it!” she snapped at him. “You can't even use it!”

“You’re right. I don't need it.” He let the Pip-Boy fall from his hands then threatened to crush it with his foot. “Run along home.”

Francine, knelt down and picked up the first aid kit at her feet.

“And what do you think you’re doing? I told you to leave.”

“I need this,” she uttered, fumbling with a syringe. “I’ll die without it.”

“The world might be better.”

Rising to her feet, she stepped towards him. “You’d know, wouldn’t you? Since you’re so great?” Francine spoke through her teeth, each word coated in venom as her eyes narrowed. He was nothing, just like her owner. And just like her owner, she wanted him to feel small. To feel stupid. To feel as insignificant as a dust particle in a dried up lake bed.

She stepped closer, causing him to take a step back. “Being so great, you must know everything. Like why you’re out here, patrolling a ghost town rather than sitting inside your fortified bunker. All that comfort? All the perks? Seems like you’re missing out. Or maybe stealing from and threatening sixteen year old girls is one of the perks? Since you’re so fucking low on the ladder?”

“You stupid, little nobody!”

“I am nobody. And do you know what the best part of being nobody is?” The stranger scoffed at her sudden haughty attitude, but Francine saw her opening and shoved the Med-X needle into his neck, plunging as much of the chem into him as she could. He swiped at her, but she dodged then took off running towards the burning house.

_Let’s go, asshole. It only takes a minute at best._

He charged after Francine. And while she wasn’t fast by any stretch of the imagination, it didn’t matter when her pursuer was weighed down by metal armor and had twice the dose of Med-X anyone should have.

From that side of the block, all Francine could see was the top of the house she set fire to. But as they rounded the end of the street, everything was cast in a harsh orange glow. Fire had spread to the grass of neighboring lawns. It threatened to consume more of the neighborhood. Turning to see if he was still following, Francine let out a cackle and stopped to wait for him.

His body was in a losing fight against the effects of the Med-X. However, Francine’s laughter had kept him on his feet a little longer. Body swaying slightly, his foot caught on the sidewalk and he collapsed onto the dry grass.

Slurred curses were mumbled, but that was all he had left. Francine ripped the bag off his shoulder, though it did take some effort with how heavy just his arm was. She took a quick inventory. Ammo, batteries, stimpaks, MREs, a container of dried fruit, two bottles of clean water.

Next she took his gun from his hip and removed the batteries. “Thanks for the batteries… and all this other great stuff. I was light on food. You’re a real life saver.” Dropping the gun into his satchel, she slung the considerably heavy bag over her shoulder. “This was fun, Mr. Somebody.”

Walking up the street a little ways, she grabbed the gun she had stashed and then continued on to pick up the rest of her things the stranger had dumped out onto the pavement.

 

**

 

Huddled in the corner office of a bank, Francine peeked out the broken window. Across the river the fire still burned in the St. Louis suburb. She had dodged another group of those people in metal armor patrolling this side of the river as well. But for now it seemed like they were all distracted by the inferno spreading through the suburb.

Fingers grazing her bruised cheek, Francine winced. She hadn’t see it, but she knew it looked bad. At least he hadn’t broken the skin or worse, a bone. But that was hardly a silver lining.

_I need to get to that Vault-Tec building and get out of this city as soon as possible. Those Brotherhood people… I can’t trust those people._

She nibbled on some food. Mainly bits of the dried fruit looted from that awful man. Her teeth had begun to hurt over the past week. There was no sign of decay. However, her gums bled heavily every time she ate. And this time was no different than yesterday or the day before, as the sweetness of the fruit was nearly covered up by the taste of blood. Afraid of what her Pip-Boy might say, Francine hadn’t put it on for a diagnosis but knew she needed to do so.

Swallowing the iron tinged fruit, she reluctantly slid the Pip-Boy onto her wrist and swiped her thumb against the sensor that had been in danger hours before. A laundry list of minor problems popped up. And amongst the minor problems, a big one. The one she didn’t want to read. Radiation sickness.

_I don’t have medicine for this. Is there a doctor's office or veterinarian on the way? I don’t think there are any hospitals nearby._

Francine glanced over her atlas. The closest hospital appeared to be a good day’s hike back in the other direction.

_No fucking way. I’ll let my skin slough off from the radiation before I go back that direction._

The atlas unfortunately did not have any information on small clinics or veterinarians, but maybe one of those phone book things would? She rifled through the drawers of the desk and was glad to find exactly what she wanted.

As she went down the lists of doctors’ offices and veterinary practices Francine circled a handful of locations on the map. Five places to check on the way to Vault-Tec.

Looking out the broken window once more, she checked to see if anyone was around. The streets appeared empty.

_I need to go now._

Francine gave herself a very small dose of Med-X, packed up, and quietly crept out into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to DeadSexy who gave me some awesome feedback and help while writing this. And also to Biggreenfeet for being super nice and encouraging. Y'all should check out their stories!


	5. Lost

The low whine grinding out of the hinges made Francine’s heart pound. Peering in from the stairwell, she felt even more anxious over the maze of cubicles before her. Something or someone could be hidden in there. Her gaze gravitated towards the soft, green glow of a monitor in one of the nearby cubicles. Excitement began building, but was quickly tempered. Sat in front of that monitor, a radiation burned man.

Quietly she watched, thankful that they were too engrossed to have noticed her open the door. She didn’t want another encounter like with the man in that metal armor. If it were at all possible, slinking by unnoticed until she got back to her vault would be preferred. Though, she realized the probability of that were unlikely. Especially around cities. And cities would be necessary for supplies.

A hushed murmur came from him.

_What did he say?_

Again murmuring, but his voice was so quiet and hard to understand.

_There are other computers. I’ll use a different computer on a different floor._

Slowly, she backed out into the stairwell and pulled the door to. As she climbed the stairs up to the next floor, Francine told herself the computers on the upper floors probably had access to more information. It may have held little truth, but it made her feel better about leaving what she knew was functioning alone.

The third and fourth floor doors were jammed shut. However, the fifth floor was propped open with a potted plant. A large placard hung on the wall above the receptionist’s desk, denoting each of the offices on this floor belonging to executive staff.

_Perfect._

Francine stepped behind the desk and pulled the drawer open. The pleasing clink of several keys on a keyring greeted her. It was already apparent that security aired on the lax side of things here, but she wasn’t expecting to literally be handed the keys to these offices. Though, she had no plans of turning down this upswing in her luck. Whatever life wanted to hand her, she’d rip from its grasp at this point.

Turning away from the desk, she peered down the hallway and listened for any noise. No movement. No sound. Just dust particles floating in morning light coming through the windows. Francine started towards the offices, but her Pip-Boy registered radiation. She took a step back for a moment and peeked into her bag at the gauge.

_It's fine. It’s a small amount. I'm not gonna linger. Transfer data. Get out. I have meds. I will be fine._

Feeling confident enough to start down the hallway again, she walked straight to the back.

 

_Nathaniel Pierce: Regional Director_

 

A few keys into the keyring and the lock released. Francine slid into the leather office chair and turned on the computer.

“Alright, Mr. Director. Let's see how difficult your pass—” There was no password protection. Not even a login screen of any kind. All she had to do was boot up the machine. Francine laughed in disbelief.

Pulling the Pip-Boy from her bag, she hooked it up to the computer and then opened up several folders: maps, vault experiments, manifests. She wanted it all.

_//COPY//_

_//PASTE//_

Slowly the files began copying over. It would take time, but it wouldn’t take forever. She got up,  closed the door, then locked it. Francine sat back down and frowned as the Geiger counter clicked away. Hazarding a glance at the gauge, she immediately pulled out one of the RadAway bags, and began preparing it and her hand for the IV.

“You're a pro now. Did your first one three hours ago. So it's almost like you went to med school,” she chuckled nervously. It wasn't that the needle had a bigger gauge. It wasn't even the fact that she had to do it herself. It was that the catheter couldn't be secured once she pulled the needle out. If it came out, all that precious RadAway was wasted. That’s what made Francine anxious. That's what she told herself anyway. Grimacing, she took a deep breath and counted down. “Three. Two. One.”

 

> _A cart with another round of IV bags was wheeled into the quarantine room. Crying, she asked, “Momma, why? Why can’t we leave?”_
> 
> _“Because,” her mother’s voice wavered. “Because Papa was very sick, and they don’t want us to be sick too.”_
> 
> _“But I hate it here! I hate Dr. Weaver! And I hate that medicine! I wanna go home!”_

 

Her vision blurred for a moment, and she broke out in a cold sweat.

“That's not supposed to happen. What did I fuck up?”

Francine looked at the Geiger counter again. The gauge wasn't going down. Instead it continued its steady ascent. Thankful that she could keep her eye on that needle rather than the catheter in her hand, gently, she squeezed on the IV bag. After a few moments the little red indicator slowed its climb and began to dip back down.

She leaned back into the chair and tried not to think too much about it. At least the download had started.

 _I’ll have to throw out all that food I just got._ “Fuck.”

 

*

 

Nausea hit her hard. Between retching and trying to keep the catheter in her hand, Francine felt unsure if this was a battle she could win. And as the minutes continued to pass by, her eyelids grew heavy. She was in trouble. Falling asleep here would have a disastrous outcome.

She eyed the download and her heart sank.

“Why didn’t I start with this region? What’s… I should have started with my vault. I could have left the files to download while I went somewhere safe. I should have—there’s—” She ripped the IV from her hand then began violently throwing things from the desk. “There’s no point! They're dead! They're all dead. And even if they aren't, they think I'm… I’m gonna die if I stay here.”  

Francine stopped the rest of the downloads and unplugged her Pip-Boy from the computer. Some of the maps had copied over, but not many. None of the experiments or manifests. So much for knowing what vaults would be safe and stocked.

“Momma, I just wanna go home.” Her voice sounded hollow. Francine tossed the irradiated food out and packed her Pip-Boy back into the bag. Her vision blurred for a moment.

As she headed towards the stairwell, Francine left the keys on the receptionist’s desk. This could be someone else’s dead end. Not hers.

The nausea let up slightly, but not the dizziness. Her depth perception was already ruined, but with her balance off, taking the stairs was a demanding task. Dangerous even. And after tripping down the last few steps to the third floor, Francine opted for scooting down one step at a time.

Nearing the second floor, the man from the cubicles pressed on the door to the stairwell, stopping Francine a few steps from the landing.

“—urns.”

Cautiously, Francine pulled the gun from her bag. It felt so heavy and awkward. She wasn't even sure how to hold it, but it was better than nothing.

His eyes were blind. But judging from how quickly he pushed his way through the door and onto the landing, he must have heard the rustle of the gun being pulled from her bag.

He mumbled again, “Burns… it burns.”

Francine froze.

The man turned his face towards hers. Tremors ripped through his body and a low gurgle rattled in his chest.

_What’s wrong with him? What happened to him?_

Dragging his feet along the floor, he mumbled again, “It burns.”

Francine held the gun up, shaking slightly. The mix of fear and low blood pressure made it difficult to keep her hands steady.

_Please leave. Please leave. Please leave._

He wheezed, and the twitching grew more erratic. Shuffling closer, he craned his head down at Francine.

Silently, she begged,  _Don’t kill me! I’m not ready to die! Momma, I’m not ready! Momma, save me!_

His face drew level with hers, his body taking on the most unnatural stance Francine had ever seen. Eyes wide with fear, she forced herself to remain motionless, despite the growing urge to run. A gnarled hand reached towards her.

“—urns. It burns. It _ … burns _ !” The mumble became nothing short of a wretched howl. 

Spittle and hot, acrid breath blew across Francine’s cheek as he continued to howl over what had surely been the final moments of his life. All that had once made him human was gone. She was certain of that.

He let out a petrifying hiss. Every hair on Francine’s body stood on end. Gun still in hand, she kicked his shin hard, and scrambled down to the bottom floor. Grabbing a chair from the lobby, she wedged it under the door handle right as he slammed against the ground, shrieking incoherently. Finally, she took a deep breath. Her body shook, tears falling from her eyes. It was a waste. All a waste. 

The plan from here had been to go home. Whatever was there, she’d deal with once she got there. But as of that moment, Francine had no idea where _there_ was. And she didn’t know that she had the will to keep trying to find out.

Slinking back out of the building and into a hidden alleyway, she opened up her Pip-Boy to see what she did have. Maps of the East Coast. A few incomplete bits of southern Texas. The closest point was somewhere east. Cincinnati.

Francine wiped the tears from her cheeks, and let out a heavy sigh, “I love you, Momma. I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to my husband and DeadSexy for proofreading and giving feedback!
> 
> Also another shout out to DeadSexy for the talking feral ghoul idea. Her fic "Ripples Between Daylight and Deep Sea" greatly inspired that.


	6. Ivory Tower

Summer had given way to cooler fall breezes as the weeks flew by. Roving gangs of raiders had kept Francine off the interstates and highways. And what she encountered in some of the cities made her stick mostly to the suburbs. Cincinnati had been a bust for the most part. She did find a gun range not too far outside of the city. Better practicing on still targets, as the molerats had been awful training partners. Still targets were hardly an analog to what she’d experience outside of that gun range, though. But up close and personal she could handle.

Most places on her journey presented little to nothing when it came to her medical needs. The Med-X supply was fine. However, Francine desperately needed medicine, especially RadAway. The few safe communities she was able to trade with only had herbal remedies. And while some of it worked for lesser symptoms, the unrelenting metallic taste in her mouth grew more alarming by the day.

There had been good experiences along the way as well. She stumbled upon a vault with a few functioning systems. The inhabitants were no longer alive, but Francine didn’t need them to be. All she wanted was a warm shower, and a safe place to sleep for a few nights while she stitched up some worn clothing. There had even been a few cans of food left behind.

Having freshly relaced her boots, she stood and dusted off her legs. Francine searched the skyline for hints of trouble. No birds. No smoke. As she scratched the side of her head more hair fell out, but there was little she could do about that. Not by standing there anyway. Some trader had spoken highly of a woman named Dr. Madison Li in a place called Rivet City. Maybe she could help Francine. Maybe she couldn’t. It was a start anyway.

“It was a few miles south of here… near Anacostia something or other. In an aircraft carrier.” Francine pulled out the map she swiped from a welcome center outside a metro station. “He said to just follow the Potomac.” Carefully folding the map back up, she took a quick drink of water, then began her hike.

This time of day usually meant trouble, but the area offered a lot of cover as long as one clung to the buildings. DC’s streets were in total ruin with rubble piled two stories high in some places. Francine felt fairly certain most of it wasn’t even from the immediate area. Not that she was a historian well versed in the architecture of this place. But the color of the stones in the wreckage did not match those on the buildings nearby.

“This piece flew straight from the White House. And that piece was part of the National Archives. That’d be a shame. I should look up some of these places. Maybe learn something new.”

Over the past month she had grown fond of picking up books to read at night. She had learned some cooking basics. Maybe one day she’d be able to put that theory to use. She’d also learned some interesting facts about animals as well as cars.

“I should learn more about medicine. And how to hunt. Are there even books on hunting?” She paused at an intersection and frowned. The road she needed to turn down was completely clear. “Well… there goes my cover. A book on invisibility would be nice as well.”

Stepping lightly, she turned towards the Potomac. The street itself had an eerie atmosphere. Almost as though someone had cleaned it up for part of a welcome. Perhaps even to rebuild. But there wasn’t a soul in sight. Not even the usual small bits of debris, only cracked asphalt and out of commission traffic lights.

“Please! Please save me!”

A woman scrambled out from a building entrance, throwing herself at Francine’s feet. Somewhere nearby a man called out.

Quietly, she begged, “Please! You’ve got to help me!”

Francine tried ignoring the woman by going down a side alley, but the woman started screaming and grabbing at Francine’s arms.

“I can’t help you.” Francine pushed her away, but the woman threw herself at Francine again. “I said I can’t help you! Get off!”

“He’s coming for you too! He’ll take you too! You _have_ to help me!”

Taking the gun from her holster, Francine pressed the barrel against the woman’s head. “Get. Off.”

The woman started screaming at someone behind them, “Leo! I got you another one! I got you another gir—”

Francine squeezed the trigger. The gunshot echoed off the buildings surrounding them, and the woman went limp. Turning around, Francine faced the person the woman had been yelling for.

“What the fuck? Hey! She was my bait!”

Eyes slowly raising to meet the man, she wiped the blood spatter from her gun and hand onto the side of her dress.

His pace slowed and wicked smile crept across his face. Getting uncomfortably close, he gave her a once-over. Francine could already taste stomach acid climbing up her esophagus. And as his lips parted, her nose was met with the foul odor of decay.

“Well now. Look what we have here. You seem like the kind of girl that would be—”

The bullet ripped through the man’s mouth and he collapsed backwards onto the pavement. A quick search turned up some Jet but not much else. Someone would want that Jet. All she needed was a willing trader.

 

*

 

Each new city block introduced a new threat.

_Why would anyone live here?_

A walk that should have taken two hours at most, ended up being a five hour expedition filled with dead ends, raiders, mirelurks, and whatever the fuck that six-armed (legged?) man was all about.

Francine shuddered. It looked like an enormous, stand alone tumor from behind. She didn’t even know it was alive, until it turned its head and all three of those tongues lashed out before it, like a collection of disgusting, fleshy bullwhips.

If that hadn’t been enough nightmare fuel, the sounds coming from its mouth surely sealed the deal. Thick gurgles accompanied by what was definitely the muffled groans of a man. Francine wasn’t even sure it was all groaning. Some of it could have been intelligible, if not for those tongues. The more she thought about it, the more she wanted to gag.

_I should have put him out of his misery. No one in their right mind would want that life._

Someone yelled in the distance.

_Seriously? Can’t I take a moment to be grossed out before you throw more bullshit my way?_

Pulling out a pair of binoculars, Francine looked for the source of the cries. Not that she found herself interested in playing hero. More that the idea of being the next target was less than appealing.

Her blood ran cold, and Francine immediately dropped to the ground. Mutants. _They_ were why she hadn’t ventured deep into many cities. The bags upon bags of body parts she encountered. Francine only caught glimpses of the mutants themselves. Their mouths always gnawing on flesh and chins glistening red with blood. Thankfully, it was the thick smell of iron and rot in the air that kept her from getting too close before she found those binoculars.

Mouthing several colorful words, she crept towards the bank of the river.  The screams of whatever unfortunate person they caught kept those icy chills running down her spine, and her feet moving.

_Eat someone else’s arms. I need mine._

Fifty feet. One hundred feet. Further and further she inched away from the danger. Each footstep grew faster, and her pace quickened. Francine could already see her destination in the distance. At least she assumed it was the boat she was looking for.

By the time Francine stopped at the base of the ramp up to Rivet City, she had been running full tilt. She took a moment to catch her breath and let out a laugh. She made it. All the danger of this godforsaken city, and she made it.

Wiping away the sweat beaded on her forehead, she slowly climbed up the ramp. Her eyes kept drifting towards the aircraft carrier. It was certainly large. Larger than she imagined it to be. There were buildings she scavenged that couldn’t possibly compare to the size of this place.

Once she made it to the top of the ramp, she stood still, and took it all in. _Whoa._

“Do you have any water? Maybe some food?”

Francine turned around and regarded the man. If he was hurting for food and water, it must have been within the last hour. The healthy pink color of his skin spoke volumes.

“I’ve been drinking water from toilet tanks, and eating carrion for the better part of a month. Do I _really_ look like I can afford to share anything with you?”

The beggar let out some half-mumbled whine, then went back to staring off into the distance.

Francine refocused her attention on the rusted aircraft carrier. The sound of children running along the deck, echoed off the water. This was a city with normal people, not raiders. It looked like they had security, but they weren't militarized. The bridge alone was enough to keep most anyone out.

Taking a deep breath she walked up to the intercom and pressed the call button. A minute passed and still no one responded. She pressed it again and was met with a curt, “ _What?_ ”

“Hello? I’d like access to your… city? Aircraft carrier?”

A man responded. “We don’t let raiders into Rivet City. Turn around.”

Forcing down the anger, Francine grit her teeth and tried again, “I’m not a raider. I just need some help.”

“You’re a raider. Turn around.”

“I’m not a fucking raider, I’m just like you!”

“I’m not buying it, lady. You’re covered in dry blood. Turn around, or we’ll open fire.”

Francine pulled out her binoculars and looked at the man. He was clean. Appeared to be well fed. Not particularly impressive. She pressed the talk button again, “Listen here, you fucking oatmeal cookie! I’m not some fucking raider here to shoot up your precious boat town. I’m a girl that just wants medical attention, a bath, some food, and a place to sleep! I have caps. I will pay for—”

“Turn around. Last warning.”

She started kicking at the intercom, then screamed from across the water, “Fuck you and your beached, broken boat! Rot in hell, you boring piece of shit!”

“Harkness not lettin’ you in?”

She shot the beggar an annoyed look, then gave him a snide smile. “Nope! He do the same to you?”

“Oh no. I come out here each morning.”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t you?” Despite the obvious rhetorical question, he began to give a long winded answer. Francine zoned out, grabbing for the water she refused to share with him earlier. What sort of safe haven did she hope this hellscape would be? Sure there had been acid rain in some of the Midwest. And there had been a smattering of raiders here and there. But the barren, radiation scorched earth of DC and its plethora of assholes out to get her was entirely different. “I hate this place already.”

“Please?” he asked, gesturing to the bottle.

Francine rolled her eyes. “It’s not clean.”

“Better than nothing.”

“Are you fucking serious?”

“If you don’t m—”

She handed him the water. At least he was saving her from the taste of rust. He let out a contented sigh after taking a small sip. Again Francine rolled her eyes, then asked, “Where’s the closest settlement with infrastructure? A place that will let me in, preferably.”

“Underworld. In that old history museum. It’s one station stop away—” he paused, taking another sip, “—if you don’t mind ghouls.” The tone indicated that he did mind.

Francine curled her lip. “And _what,_ exactly, is wrong with them?”

“Rotten zombies. Give me the creeps. They have no place here. They’re not like you and me.” The beggar looked up at her face and got a clear view of the chemical burn and her thinning hair. “... not like me anyway.”

Ripping the water bottle from his hands, Francine poured it out over the railing. “Thanks for enlightening me.”

“Hey! You didn’t have to waste it!”

Francine pulled out another bottle of water, and poured it onto the ground in front of him. “Have a great day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my husband for correcting a phrase I've been saying wrong my entire life. Ten points to anyone that can guess which phrase that is. And thank you to DeadSexy and Biggreenfeet for always encouraging me!


	7. Underworld

Francine emerged from the station and took a deep breath. The air inside the train tunnels had been musty and damp. Anyone living there for longer than a month would have extensive breathing issues, which may be why the only inhabitants she came across were a few strung out raiders that had no idea she didn’t belong. However, that made her uncomfortable. She hadn’t seen her own reflection in so long. Maybe she did look like them. Or something else entirely. 

Carefully, she climbed over the rubble towards the motionless escalators. If only they still functioned. Her body and mind were beyond the point of exhaustion. 

“If that asshole was lying about this place, I’m going back there, and I’m going to—”

Gunfire erupted from above. As quietly as she could, she crept towards the top of the escalators and peeked over the step. The smell of iron and rot hit her hard. But what really got to her was the sight of red lasers flying towards the mutants.

Rising to her feet, every fiber of Francine’s being vibrated with rage. She hadn’t seen the Brotherhood since leaving the outer suburbs of St. Louis. And she never wanted to see them or their power armor ever again.

So consumed in her anger, she failed to notice the person approaching her, until they were a few feet away. All Francine saw was the laser rifle, and that was enough. She headed towards the woman, pulling her gun from its holster. 

“Whoa! Put, your gun away!”

“Or what?! You’ll take my stuff again?”

“Put it down!” the woman demanded.

Francine charged at her. 

Kicking the gun from Francine’s hand, the woman then shoved her to the ground. She leveled the laser rifle at Francine, then spoke in an even tone, “I haven’t dealt with one of you assholes in nearly a year. And that's because most of you have learned your damn lesson by now. Raiders don’t get the jump on me. What are you hopped up on any way?” She studied Francine’s face. “Hold on… you’re not a raider. You’re just a kid.”

The wind had been knocked out of her, but Francine nodded.

“You hate ghouls?” The rifle trembled slightly as the woman seethed. “Is that what this is about? Afraid of what you don’t understand?”

Francine shook her head and pointed towards the firefight behind her.

“You’re with  _ those _ assholes?”

“No!” she managed to bark before gasping for air.

The woman snorted, “Sounds like you hate them.”

Still gasping, Francine nodded fervently. 

She picked up Francine’s gun and looked at it for a second. “What cowboy bullshit is this? A revolver? You serious? Tourist, you looking to get killed?” The pained look on Francine’s face must have been enough of a reply, as she dropped that question and moved on. “Do... you need a doctor?”

“Y-yes,” Francine’s voice cracked.

“Alright. I’m keeping your gun for now. You can earn it back with good behavior. Come on. Dr. Barrows will fix you up.” Offering her a hand, the woman took on a softer demeanor. “I’m Willow. Welcome to Underworld, tourist.” 

Francine finally took in a few shallow breaths. “Francine or Frankie.” 

Willow hoisted her up. “So you hate those Brotherhood assholes?”

“Met them once. And I hope they all die.”

“I like you already, Frankie,” Willow laughed. “Keep this up and we might become friends.” 

“I didn’t know other people had those laser weapons.”

“It was a finders keepers sort of situation.” Patting the gun, she chuckled. “Not that I killed the guy. Those brutes out there did. They aren’t interested in me. Any of us ghouls really. So whenever the mutants have their little spats with the tin can crusaders, I magically obtain new toys.”

Francine looked back over her shoulder for a moment. “They don’t bother you?”

“For whatever reason, no. I’d say it’s that we don’t look appetizing, but they go for those glorified MRE’s like it’s a Thanksgiving feast.”

As they approached the entrance, Francine was suddenly hit with the realization of how large the building actually was. How many people lived here? Was this a legitimate city, or a sick game? But before she could even consider those things at length, Willow held the door open, to let her walk in first.

Unlike most of the buildings Francine had been in up to that point, this one had clean air. It smelled slightly stale, but there wasn’t any dust. “You have electricity for air filtration?”

“We also have electricity for hot water, refrigeration, and—get this—lights.” Willow pantomimed an explosion on the side of her head. “You been on the road long?”

“Four months.”

She nodded. “Any family?”

Francine remained silent.

“Rest up here. You’re welcome as long as you don’t cause any trouble. Most of these idiots will leave you alone. And if they hassle you, ignore it. I think the only person that can do you any real harm here is Ahzrukhal’s dog. He only shoots when Ahzrukhal gets sad about the bald spot between his legs.”

Her pace slowed to a halt.

“What’s wrong? You’re looking pretty apprehensive.”

“This feels too easy,” Francine whispered.

Willow looked around to see if anyone was watching. Satisfied, she said in a low voice, “Nine times out of ten I would say to trust your gut. I know if I were in your shoes I wouldn’t trust some city of people that look like me. But sometimes you need to gamble. Especially when the situation is dire. And if I’m reading your situation right, things were dire a long time ago.”

Eyes stinging with the threat of tears, Francine nodded.

“I’m not chastising you, kid. It’s hard out there. Be on your guard. It keeps you safe. But from one tough gal to another, take everything you can,  _ when _ you can. Shift the odds in your favor.”

“I’m sorry for freaking out… I’m kind of—”

Willow stopped her. “I don’t need an apology. As far as I can tell, you’ve been dealing with some heavy shit. I don’t need thanks either. Just don’t try to shoot me again. Huh? I don’t want to be known as some bully that makes girls cry. I want to be known as a bully that makes assholes in power armor cry.”

Francine smiled weakly.

“Oh, we’re definitely going to be friends, Frankie.” Willow motioned toward the inside doors. “Alright. Ignore the staring. They just wish they had skin and hair like yours. Also they rarely see me inside, so it might be that. Regardless. Ignore the stares. They don’t mean any harm.” 

A rush of cool air enveloped Francine as she stepped into the brightly lit atrium. Dull, cataracted eyes peered at her from every vantage point, and a rumbling of gravelly whispers filled the air. Trying not to stare back, Francine instead focused on the interior. It was clean. Polished granite floors and walls, intact furniture, lights that didn’t flicker intermittently, the air was like what she recalled from her vault. And intermingled with that stale odor of years gone, warm food. In her eyes this place wasn’t  _ Underworld _ . It was Eden.

Nodding towards a tall man, standing near a statue, Willow whispered, “That’s Quinn. He can help you find anything. He’s also been around plenty of smoothskins, so he is much more approachable compared to most anyone else here.

“Winthrop is the man in the coveralls with the Mr. Handy. Keeps our facilities running. He’s pretty handy, if you need any repairs. He’s also always in need of components of some sort to keep us living comfortably. So if that’s your thing… just ask him, I suppose.”

Francine committed all Willow told her to memory. She had no intention of burning any bridges with the people here. They weren’t yelling at her. The stares were odd, but they were by no means hostile.  _ If I’m good to these people, they might be good to me. At the very least they might trade with me. _

A rather petite woman slid into their path and thrust her hand towards Francine.

“Th-this is Tulip,” Willow stuttered, taking on a pink flush. “She runs the general store. She also knows quite a bit about the exhibits here, if that interests you.”

Francine slowly reached her hand out towards Tulip’s.

“Hello.” Tulip smiled warmly. “I do love new faces. Willow didn’t try scaring you off, did she?”

“No! Why—why would I do that?

“Oh please, Willow. You’re a shoot first and ask questions later kind of woman.”

“Not always!”

“Actually,” Francine interrupted, “I was the one causing her problems.”

Tulip’s smile grew cocky. “So someone finally beat you at your own game?”

“Hey! That’s—”

“Well, I’ll let you two get on your way. It was nice meeting you… oh dear, I didn’t even ask your name.”

“Francine.”

“It was nice meeting you, Francine. If you ever want to hear horribly embarrassing stories about Willow, just come see me.”

As Tulip skipped away, Willow’s awkward posture relaxed back to something a bit more natural. “She doesn’t mean it. I hope.” Willow cleared her throat. “A-anyway. Let’s continue. On the upper level we have Carol’s Place. Carol and Greta keep us fed pretty well. There’s also a bit of an inn adjoined, if you need a bed.

“And across on the other side is The Ninth Circle. Ahzrukhal’s bar. The gun I talked about is Charon. You can’t miss him. Massive, silent guy with a big gun. Doesn’t look like he knows how to smile. To be honest, I’ve never heard him talk either. Maybe Ahzrukhal cut his tongue out.”

Francine made a face.

“I’m kidding. I have no idea. But I wouldn’t put it past Ahzrukhal. So… take that as you will. But onto more important things. The doctor here is also the mayor. David Barrows. He was the only one that knew what the hell he was doing in the beginning. We didn’t necessarily vote for him, but he took charge and things have run smoothly ever since. Keeps us patched up and does a fair amount of research on our condition. He’ll know how to help you.”

Willow knocked on the clinic door. No response. Rolling her eyes, she checked the clock above the door, then pushed it open. “David.” Still no response, though there was definitely a man sitting at a computer quite engrossed with his work. She stomped into the room and cleared her throat loudly, “I brought you a patient. I’m paying, so don’t hassle her, David.”

His eyes remained fixed on the computer.

“David?”

“Mm?”

“ _ David _ !” Willow hissed through her teeth.

Finally, he turned around. “What?”

“You have a patient.”

Logging off his computer, he asked “Where’s Roberta?”

“It’s nearly 10 o’clock, David. She’s in her room.”

“What?” He looked at his watch, then the clock next to his computer, and let out a long sigh. “Sorry. Uhh... I’m Dr. Barrows. Usually nurse Graves does—” He finally looked at Francine. “Oh… Go ahead and take a seat wherever you like. Thank you, Willow. I’ll take it from here.”

Willow smiled at Francine. “I’ll check on you in a few hours. And don’t let that stern voice of his scare you. He’s a big softy.”

“ _ Thank you _ , Willow.”

“I’m leaving.” She gave Francine a small wave, and left.

Sitting on one of the nearby patient beds, Francine watched as Dr. Barrows sifted around his filing cabinet for a blank patient file. The atmosphere of his clinic felt relaxed compared to that of Dr. Weaver’s. It still smelled heavily of antiseptic, but something about the mismatched sheets on the beds and poster of a kitten above his computer made her feel at ease compared to previous visits to a doctor. 

That is until she noticed the dark room to her left housed two feral ghouls, one of which emitted an eerie green light.

“Sorry about that. I get caught up in my research and… they can’t get in here. Don’t worry.” 

“Oh. No. I mean,  _ yes _ . A little alarming. But I haven’t ever seen a phosphorescent one.”

Dr. Barrows chuckled. “I think most people refer to them as glowing. But my notes would agree with your descriptor. Regardless, they won’t be getting in here. They’d make an absolute mess of my clinic. Now—” he said, sitting down in front of her, “—let’s get started. What’s your name?”

“Francine Harjo.”

“Age.”

“I turn seventeen on November, 4.”

“Do you know your medical history? Any allergies?”

“No major surgeries. I’ve had all early childhood vaccines that were standard pre-war. Immunodeficient. No allergies.”

“Autoimmune disease?”

“Genetics.”

Dr. Barrows nodded. “Very precise. Thank you. What can I do for you, Francine?”

“I have radiation poisoning. And my… all this.” Francine motioned to the side of her face and eye.

Dr. Barrows got out a tiny flashlight from his pocket. “Open your mouth, let’s see your gums.”

Francine jerked back as his fingers threatened to touch her lips. She paused for a moment then spoke in a low voice, “I’m sorry. It’s been a long year.”

“It’s fine. I’m just moving your lips to look at the gum line. Nothing else. Let me know when you’re ready.”

She took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Again he shined the flashlight at her mouth and carefully looked at her gums. “We can take care of this. Have you been treating the symptoms or the cause at all? Any RadAway or RadX in recent history?”

“Nothing besides fever reducers.”

He pointed to the track marks on her out turned arms. “And painkillers?”

“Med-X.” Hiding the marks as best she could, Francine frowned. “Not recreationally. Not in the traditional sense.”

Dr. Barrows wrote down a note. “Are you using sterile needles?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I encourage you to ween yourself, but in the meantime keep everything clean. Would you take off your glasses, please.” He shined the light at her eye. “Can you still see light?”

“Yes.”

“Any pain from light sensitivity?”

“No.” Francine rubbed her eye. “But it’s dry and itchy.”

“That’s to be expected. You likely have an overproduction of tears from this inflammation. I can give you an ointment for the burns on your skin, and some antibiotic drops. I’m afraid there isn’t much I can do for your eyesight, though.”

She chuckled half-heartedly, “You can’t uncook an egg.”

“I’ll let you know when I figure out that one.” He made a few more notes. “Have you eaten anything in the past twelve hours?”

“No.” Francine thought for a moment. “But I’ve had water.”

“Water is fine. We can start treatment for the radiation immediately. We’ll get you some food afterwards. The RadAway tends to make folks nauseous, and I’d rather you not be dehydrated as well.” He paused. “I urge you to let us do a more in depth exam when you are feeling better. If you prefer, we can have Roberta do it. But for now, let’s focus on getting this radiation under control.”

 

*

 

Dr. Barrows slid out the door and made his way to the railing above the metro entrance. Pulling a small cloth from his pocket, he nodded at Willow then began cleaning his glasses.

“I like her.”

“I should hope so, she’s costing you a grand.”

Willow’s already pale skin blanched.

“I’m kidding,” he chuckled. “You can still buy all the ammo your violent heart desires. She mostly required meds we don’t use. Other than those eye drops. Might need Quinn to start scavenging for those again.”

“Is she… becoming like us.”

“Is that what all this charitability from you is about? No. I don’t think so. I’m flushing her system right now. I don’t think she’s come in contact with an FEV strain. But I’ll monitor her for a few days. Run a few blood tests.” 

“Don’t—”

“I’m not getting a tissue sample from a kid, Willow. I’m not a monster.” He let out a long sigh. 

“David, no one is blaming you for not having a cure for this.”

“It’s not that.” Putting the cloth back in his pocket, he slipped his glasses on and gave her a serious look. “I can’t believe a kid caught you with your pants down.”

“What!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy Willow and Dr. Barrows as much as I do. At least my interpretations of them :)


	8. Bait

“Good. Very good,” Willow admitted, trying to veil her pride.

Francine shot Willow a smirk. Six months amongst the few kind people she had met soothed some of the shallower cuts life inflicted on her. Her sharp edges hidden from sight until they were needed again. The acid sting of her tongue now only reserved for those she felt threatened by.

“Don’t give me that shit eating grin. I don’t have time for you being a smartass today, tomorrow, or three weeks from now, kid.”

“It _seems_ to me,” Francine cocked her head, “that if you spent the last few months teaching someone how to shoot a gun, you have ample time. There’s also that whole immortality thing thanks to radiation.”

“Oh? All I did was teach you how to aim that thing? I didn’t show you where to find work? How to be a little more pleasant with clients? How to—”

“Yes! You did all those things. And Tulip. And Dr. Barrows. You all helped me.”

And they truly had. Dr. Barrows, while very standoffish, was more than accommodating with treating her ailments and refining her first aid knowledge. Tulip worked a bit of magic to make the thinned patch of hair on the side of Francine’s head not as noticeable by way of giving her a mohawk. She also supplied Francine with several clean sets of clothes from her own closet. And most of all Willow. Willow found that spark that so desperately needed oxygen and gave it a chance to grow into something steady.

“Alright. _Maybe_ I have time.” Holding her hand out, Willow nodded towards the gun. “Let me see how well you’ve been keeping up with maintenance.”

Francine unloaded the remaining bullets and placed the revolver in Willow’s hand.

“Oh, is that safety? Well, I’ll be damned. Francine Harjo does have ears.”

“I always listen to you.”

“Always? Like when I told you to move in with us and instead you marched down into the metro and set up shop in a ticketing booth? Uh huh. _Listening._ ” Willow shot Francine an unimpressed look, then focused on the firearm for a few moments. “S’good. I still wish you would use a smaller gun, rather than your cowboy pistol. You know that whole _listening_ thing you seem to think you do? You should give it a try.”

Francine scrunched her face up.

“Make faces all you want, Frankie. I’m not worried about you going toe to toe with a yao guai. I’m worried about people. You know. The assholes with fingers. Those? Especially the kind with guns.”

“I’ll… consider it,” Francine mumbled. “But you have to admit… I am a lot better now.”

“I’ll admit you’re better. But you sure as fuck ain’t no natural. And if you aren’t careful, you’ll still end up dead.”

Shivering at the icy stare Willow was giving her, Francine conceded. “OKAY! I’ll get myself a stupid 10mm. Shit, Willow. Why do you have to be so mean?”

“Because you’re my favorite smoothskin, and I like you breathing!” She ruffled Francine’s hair, then pushed her away, laughing. “Go see Tulip and get some dinner. She’s been asking about you for the past few days. _And_ don’t start anything with Ahzrukhal. Please.”

“Me?”

“Yes. You. You hellion.”

Francine holstered her gun, and quickly walked towards the door to Underworld.

“You know what? Don't even talk to him.”

“Him who?” Francine called back as she pulled the door closed.

“ _Ahzrukhal_!”

Francine mimed from behind the glass like she couldn’t hear Willow.

“I know you can hear me, you little shit!”

Throwing her hands up, Francine feigned bewilderment and began backing away.

 

*

 

Francine dug into her bag and handed Tulip a jar of honey.

“Oh! You brought me a treat from the past!”

“ _That_ was not easy to find. I also got you a few other things.” Again she dug around inside her bag and produced a second jar of honey, a bottle of mustard, some romance novels, and a holodisk.

“Is this…”

“Yes. And that’s the only copy I could find.”

Tulip giggled uncontrollably, wrapping Francine in a big hug. “Alright, you. Sit. We’re watching this while eating dinner.”

Smiling, she took a seat at the table and watched as Tulip stuck the holodisk into her computer, eyes lighting up as soon as the fanfare began. Francine had never heard of this movie, but apparently it was Tulip’s favorite from her childhood. Some fanciful adventure about girl space cadets saving the planet.

Tulip quickly set bowls of stew at each of their place settings, then sat down herself. Both of them ate quickly, trying not to miss any dialogue.

Francine didn’t have many films to watch in the vault aside from some Rodgers & Hammerstein musicals, nature documentaries, and a few severely damaged action movies traders bartered with once. So truthfully, this was a treat, despite the horrendous story and acting.

“It’s our job to save tomorrow and today, Zoe!”

Francine stared in awe as Tulip recited the lines. They had such heart coming from her. Tulip believed in them so much more than the little girl playing the space cadet ever did. And as the credits began to roll, Tulip jumped up and hit pause. Gleefully pointing at the name jittering back and forth on the screen, she did a little dance.

“ _Tulip Maxwell_. Is that _you_?”

“It is! I didn’t have any lines. But I had such a fun time. And we got to keep our cadet uniforms. So I had an entire year of make-believe after the film. We even got to meet Mr. Pebbles!”

“That space cat?!”

“Yes!”

“So were you a famous actress then?”

Tulip giggled, “Oh, no. That was the only time I did something like that. My parents didn't want me having that life. And I thank them for it. I was able to have that experience, then go on to have a relatively normal life. Well. Until you know...

“But enough of that.” Tulip motioned for Francine’s bowl and they began to clean up. “How have you been these past few weeks? I haven’t seen much of you.”

“Target practice. Willow’s also been teaching me how to reload ammo. Sent me out a few times to find supplies. I may have comeback with some things that weren’t on the shopping list. Electronic things. Food things.”

Tulip took the hint to hide her honey. “It seems like you’ve found your stride. Scavenging. Servicing electronics. It suits you. Finding the useful bits left behind. Breathing new life into things others couldn’t.”

“A-about that. I know you don’t like when I do the mercenary work, but it pays better. And—”

Tulip interrupted her. “I don’t mind the work. I mind the clientele. Some of them are horrible. There’s a reason Willow doesn’t do that anymore, you know?”

Francine chewed the inside of her cheek for awhile.

“Well? What’s the ‘and’ about?”

“You remember how Ahzrukhal mentioned that slaver city. I think I need to go there. I don’t care about the adults. If I can escape my situation, they have no excuse. But those kids. If I could help one of them… I have the money. And Willow said I’m a good shot now! So if things go poorly...”

Tulip ran a hand through what remained of her hair. “ _You’re_ still a kid, Francine. You don’t—you know she’s going to be upset. Right? You have to know.”

“This is something I need to do. You know I need to, Tulip.”

“I’m not saying you shouldn’t. I know it’s important to you. It should be important to more people.” Tulip reached into a cabinet and placed several stimpacks near Francine’s bag. “I’m saying Willow will be worried. _I_ will be worried. Hell, I’m still worried you’re going to come back from scavenging covered in scratches and bruises. Those people, they don’t do scratches and bruises. They do bomb collars.”

 "Bomb collars?"

 

*

 

Slamming a handful of caps down on the bar top, Francine then laid out a map. “Where?”

“ _Where_ what? And more importantly, do you think I will tell you what you want for that offering?”

Scowling, she dug into her bag and piled up more caps for Ahzrukhal. “Where is the slaver city? The one with the kids?”

“Oh. _That_ where.” He pulled a glass from below the counter. “Are you thirsty? Maybe I could get you something?”

“Yeah,” she said, screwing her mouth into a smile. “A bottle of your cheapest vodka. We’ll share it. Over a fire.”

Charon shifted and Francine backed down immediately. The hate drenched grin on Ahzrukhal’s face made her stomach turn. He wouldn’t let Charon kill her. Especially not when she was a steady customer of his Med-X supply. But a calculated injury to encourage more use? _That_ Francine wouldn’t put past him.

She reached for another handful of caps and tossed them onto the growing pile. “I would like to know how to get to Paradise Falls. Please.”

“So you’re finally gonna cave and spend that mountain of caps you have on a slave? Or are you just going to gawk?”

Francine thought she was seeing red after Tulip explained the bomb collars. But now this was a disgusting joke to him? Another two handfuls of caps, with an added glare.

“Charon, show our favorite patron the garbage heap from which all the Wasteland benefits.”

As he neared, Francine took several steps away. Charon was certainly an imposing person to be near, but it was more the feeling of looking into a mirror that bothered her. That dead look in his eyes, it felt all too familiar.

“He’s only doing this once,” Ahzrukhal laughed. “So you better pay attention, or you’ll be paying again.”

Swallowing her fear, she stood next to Charon and watched as he pointed to a place in the northwest—roughly a day’s walk from Underworld. She’d need to stop by her place for a few supplies.

As Charon stepped away, Francine set down another handful of caps away from the initial offering to Ahzrukhal.

“Your usual?” he sneered.

“Yes.”

Handing her a vial of Med-X, he smiled a little too warmly for her liking. Francine quickly stuffed it into her bag and shifted down to the end of the bar next to Patchwork. He wasn’t the most coherent company, but certainly better than Ahzrukhal.

His words always felt like poison. Carefully selected to hurt and enrage her. And that look… If it weren’t for her Med-X habit, would he find a way to get a bomb collar on her? Was that what Charon did when Ahzrukhal sent him away for a few days?

Willow never gave any concrete reasons as to why Ahzrukhal should be avoided. Just that she shouldn't piss him off.

Francine looked back towards the corner Charon always occupied. His lifeless glare shifted from the door to her. The pit of her stomach tied itself into a rat’s nest of knots. Quickly turning her attention to Patchwork, she drummed up something like a conversation. Anything to escape the frightening glare he had. Thankfully, reprieve was granted shortly thereafter, as two men stepped into the bar and Charon immediately escorted them to Ahzrukhal.

 

*

 

Looking over the shipment of Jet, Ahzrukhal exhaled a thick cloud of smoke at his supplier. “It’s a little light, Murphy. I got customers. How can I supply customers with this?”

“I didn’t go to business school, b-but I’m pretty sure low supply and high demand yields a better result for you personally. A-and I can’t make more than what my own resources allow. So—”

“I don’t care.” Ahzrukhal shoved a box of ammo and small container of caps at Murphy. “Put that skittish, little, scientist brain of yours to use, and figure out a way to get me more product.”

Barrett stepped towards the bar, but Murphy waved his bodyguard away.

Ahzrukhal snorted at the stern face Barrett gave him, then turned his attention back to Murphy’s much less imposing presence. “I’m a reasonable man. And I hope we can continue our business dealings on pleasant terms. But if you continue to show up and disappoint me, then I will find a new supplier. Do you understand, Murphy?”

“Y-yes, Ahzrukhal.”

“Now... buy something or leave.”

 

**

 

Murphy watched from the little table, nursing his second “last drink”. Many patrons had come and gone by now. But not her. It seemed they each took a turn smiling and laughing with her, then bowing out for the next to soak in that moment of youth. That chance to feel human once more.

In another life he may have approached to do the same. But in another life he was a better looking man. Not the best looking man, but he had sharp features that some would have found handsome. And he could be witty if he wanted. But wit saw no use over the past two hundred years. Wit could get you in trouble if shown to the wrong people.

“Ready to go, boss?”

“N-no. Not yet.”

Something about her made him nostalgic. Maybe it was the whiff of soap coming off her when he strode past her at the bar. Maybe it was the sound of her voice lilting along playfully? Or perhaps it was some misfiring of synapses in his brain. He didn’t know, and honestly couldn’t be bothered to care. But he wanted to bask in it for a little bit longer. To bathe in the orange glow of sodium street lights she suddenly reminded him of.

“You’re drunk. We’re leaving. Come on, boss.”

Reluctantly his feet carried him away from her and that corona of stolen memories with which she permeated the air. And before they had even made it out the door of Ahzrukhal’s bar, Murphy had forgotten what prompted the nostalgia in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Deadsexy and to my husband for giving me some helpful edits and ideas!


	9. Paradise

Face dusted over with white powder, and eye black painted around her eyes, nose and along her lips gave the suggestion of a skull. The warnings from Willow and Tulip hadn’t fallen completely on deaf ears. Promises of vindictive slavers and organized mercenary groups, paying back ten fold for good deeds done. If Francine was going into the wolves’ den, she had no intention of ever letting them see her face.

The husk of a shopping center sat in the distance. Occasional laughter could be heard ever so faintly. Francine imagined what the people laughing from within those walls looked like. Did they look like monsters? Spittle collecting at the corners of their mouths, like rabid animals. All fangs and claws. Or was that darkness well hidden behind cool eyes and pert grins? A terrifying discovery one made in their last moments, as the life was throttled from their body while those cool eyes remained trained on theirs.

Her stomach lurched as she got closer, but not from Med-X withdrawal. Fear. Fear of how _she_ would react to those monsters, no matter what their appearance.

_I’m here for something more important than my own satisfaction. Hold it together._

“Whoa whoa, lady. Back up. This is a private outfit. Only those on the approved list may enter.”

Francine set her backpack down and stepped back. “I think your boss will find my caps speak volumes louder than a list being held by an illiterate fuck-up.”

“What did you just say to me?”

Speaking slower and over-enunciating, she smiled, reiterating, “I said I have enough caps to buy merchandise, but your flaccid dick is in my way.”

A second man from further inside the compound approached them. “Is there a problem here, ma’am?”

“The paperweight doesn’t think Mr. Jones wants my money. If that is the case, I will gladly take my caps elsewhere, but knowing that Mr. Jones is in the business of making money, _not_ turning it away, perhaps I should let him know you gentlemen don’t know how to interface with customers?”

The second man smacked the back of the first’s head. “Apologies, ma’am. This is not how we run our business. Allow me to show you in.”

Picking up her backpack and slinging it over her shoulder, Francine quickly met the second man and headed further into the compound entrance. Gravel crunched under her feet, and the long shadows cast by dead trees and broken down vehicles lining the road reached out for her, like hands pulling her into the mouth of a monster. The fences pieced together from corrugated iron and the odd rotting piece of plywood, its scales. And the closer she got to the entrance, the more the smells of blood and bodily waste filled the air. There at the door, a pile of bodies. An offering to the monster. And now an opportunity for Francine to be added to that offering.

A large sign just inside warned to keep her gun holstered, and the gentleman manning a minigun from not too far away seemed intent on enforcing that.

Dust cut against her skin as the wind picked up. The people here didn’t seem interested in her. In fact, other than the man with the minigun, they didn’t acknowledge her presence whatsoever. But in spite of that, Francine could still feel an invisible hand tightening around her throat. And the faint whisper in her ear, asking if she was having fun.

A roar of laughter came from the cantina, igniting within her a suffocating anger. Trembling, she took a deep breath, stood as tall as possible and began walking with purpose. _I’ll burn it all. One day I’ll burn_ **_you_ ** _all._

 

*

 

“Damnit girls! How many times do I have to tell you to stop having your catty little arguments? How many times in one day do I have to tell you? Hmm? I don’t have time for this shit. And it certainly isn’t why you’re here!”

Francine let the door close loudly.

From the other room that same voice yelled and began marching towards her, “Forty, don’t you know how to fucking kn—you aren’t Forty.”

“No. I’m not. But I was told if I was looking to do business, I should just show myself in. You are Eulogy Jones? Yes?”

The man quickly adjusted the look of disdain on his face, tucked in his shirt, and began to lay on a thick, hospitable tone as he welcomed Francine in. “Yes! Of course! My apologies. I always have time for business. And pleasure, if you’re looking to mix the two. But we’ll get to that later. How may I—”

“I’m here to make a purchase. So far all I’ve seen are several drunks and your malcontent welcoming staff. Which, might I suggest you get a shorter leash for him?”

“Grouse has already been neutered. Took this place from his daddy a while ago. Cannibal. Can’t say that’s very good for the bottom line. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Francine smiled, asking, “Is this a job interview, Mr. Jones?”

Eyebrows raised, he shook his head and began to chuckle. “No. No, I suppose not.” Motioning for the two women standing in the shadows, he gave Francine another warm smile. “Excuse me for a moment… Crimson. Clover. I need to talk to Forty for a bit. Make our guest comfortable.”

“Yes, Daddy,” cooed the young woman with bleached, platinum hair. She gave Francine a curious look, then showed her into a large room with a sizable heart shaped bed. “What’s that makeup all about? You tryin’ to look like some scary shit?”

The second, taller woman cleared her throat. “Clover. Please don’t start.”

Francine ignored Clover. Instead she eyed the bed, sheets in disarray and pillows strewn all around the floor.

“Oh sugar,” Clover tittered. “You don't even have a chance with Mr. Eulogy. He’s only got eyes for me.”

“I’m not interested,” Francine whispered. This woman, Clover, made her anxious. Yet another mirror she was hesitant to look at. Francine hadn’t made it past the threshold that Clover was beyond… but how much longer would it have taken?

Rubbing her buzzed, short hair, Crimson fidgeted. A woman biding her time. Waiting for opportunity to come barging in.

 _I’m so sorry I didn’t bring that opportunity for you,_ Francine lamented.“How long have you been here?”

Crimson smiled at Francine, though didn’t answer the question. “Mr. Eulogy should only be a minute, ma’am.”

 

*

 

“Open the gates. I want to see them up close.”

“Forty,” Eulogy nodded to the greasy redhead guarding the slave pens. “Outer gate only, ma’am. We can’t let you play with merchandise. I’m sure you understand.”

Opening the outer gate, Forty waltzed up to the pen full of adults. “We got all types, even got a doctor if that’s what you’re in the market… for…”

Francine, however, walked towards the other pen of children, and Eulogy let out a low chuckle. “Looks like we have a woman that wants to invest in the future, Forty.”

Biting her tongue, she simply nodded as Forty yelled for them to stand front and center. There were three. Two boys and a girl.

The little girl avoided looking altogether. Francine imagined the face paint was a bit scary looking for someone so young. Though she could appreciate the tough face the girl put on in spite of her situation.

The older of the two boys looked bored.

Then there was the other boy...

Turning back to Eulogy she pointed towards the smaller of the boys. “Why’s that one so scrawny?”

“If you're implying he’s sick, I assure you the doctor here has given them all a check up. Healthy as healthy can be. He’s just lanky. Hitting that growth spurt.”

_Growth spurt my ass. His cheeks are sunken in, you sick fuck._

“That mouthy one knows a few things about computers.” He turned his eyes on the boy. “Yeah, don’t think I didn’t notice your little computer project there.”

Pointing at the older boy, Francine called to him, “You know computers? Software or hardware?”

“Fuck you lady. Like I would help you anyway!”

Forty kicked the chain-link, and the boy backed away, scowling.

“How much for all three?”

Running his tongue along the edge of his teeth, Eulogy asked, “You want all three? Five hundred for each of the small ones. One grand for that little shit with the mouth. Two grand total.”

“Yes. I can do math.” Francine shoved the bag of caps at Forty. “Count it, ugly.”

Forty opened his mouth, but Eulogy quickly stepped between them and motioned toward his headquarters. “We have a machine. If you come right this way. Forty?”

Francine kept close watch of Forty as they headed back to Eulogy’s place. He looked like the type to turn on his own mother for fun, she could only imagine what he’d do to an employer or customer. Or even how quickly he’d scurry off with a bag full of caps. Though, much to her surprise, he obediently listened to each of Eulogy’s orders.

Gesturing for Francine to sit on a beat up, leather couch, he asked, “So what is your line of work Miss—?”

“I’m a hired gun for very exclusive clientele.”

Eulogy sat and sidled up to her. “You still didn’t tell me your name.”

“I don’t _do_ names. I do business. I thought that was what you wanted to do. Business.”

Chuckling, he distanced himself a little. “You have quite the balance of decorum and fuck-off going on there. You’d certainly go far here. If you ever decide to look for a new and very exclusive client, my door is open.”

From across the room, Clover’s eyes pierced a hole in Francine. Francine tried to ignore that anxious bundle of questions in her head. Would that fear, that _anger_ , be with her forever? And what about these women? Would they have a chance at freedom ever again? She swore to herself that she was only here for the kids, but seeing these two in such a similar situation to her... it cut deep.

Forty handed a large bag of caps to Eulogy, giving him confirmation of payment before handing Francine the remaining caps. Eulogy smiled brighter than ever. “Seems we have a deal, Miss.”

“It seems that we do.”

With a wave of his hand Eulogy sent Forty to retrieve the children and an uncomfortable silence filled the room. Clover still eyed Francine with that resentful glare, while Crimson did her best to disappear into the scenery.

Without even having to look at them, Eulogy yelled, “Clover, do I need to smack those stupid ideas out of your head again?”

“No, Daddy! No! I didn't mean anything by it. She—”

“And Crimson! Stop being so goddamn meek. Get your ass over here and do your job.”

“Yes, Daddy.”

Both women stood up straight. Clover’s expression now blank. And Crimson walking swiftly to Eulogy’s side. They placed their hands on their swords, and stood motionless, ready to strike down any threat that approached Eulogy.

“It’s like herding cats with these girls.”

 

**

 

The weight of that leash was too much. That she would have to hold it for this long, and march them this far was not something Francine had considered. And while it was definitely her prerogative to set them free as soon as she bought them, she knew better. And knowing better may have been the most difficult part of all. Two. Three. Four miles away. She hadn’t even said anything to them since leaving.

Stopping, she turned and looked them over. The smaller boy had been crying. The girl looked ready to bolt. But the oldest one still scowled.

“What are your names?”

“Sammy… please just let us go, lady. Please.”

“Shut up, Sammy! This fucking mungo doesn’t need to know our names!”

Francine rubbed her cheek on the inside of her collar, wiping off some of the powder and eye black. “I’m not a slave owner. I just wanted to help. Do you guys have parents I can take y—”

“Listen up, mungo!” The oldest boy yelled. “We don't need you or your help. We make our own way. So fuck off!”

Francine nodded, understanding fully why she shouldn’t be trusted. These kids were smart for it. And she didn’t plan on pushing the issue. “Then I’ll be on my way.”

The leash fell from her hand and all three ran.

_Be careful out there._

Turning away from the direction the kids went, Francine decided to make her way to Megaton. It had been a little while. Maybe she could rid them of something sleazy.


	10. Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a heads up, this chapter has black widow style violence and suggestive themes.

“You okay, Frankie? Lookin’ a little down.”

Nodding, Francine half-attempted a smile for the bartender. “It’s been a long day. I probably won’t be very good for conversation tonight. Sorry, Gob.”

The ghoul matched her half-smile and grabbed a Nuka from under the counter. “You don’t have to talk. Just nice seeing you after awhile. Lemme know if—”

A thick, Irish accent bellowed from beyond the bar, berating Gob about some mundane task. Gob acquiesced to his boss’ demands, and quickly made his way to the supply closet.

_Moriarty. What a shit head._

Francine grabbed the bottle and headed for a corner. Eyes scanning the bar, she identified a few questionable people. Unfortunately they were people that would probably be noticed if missing. That Jericho merc with the big mouth who said the foulest things to anyone within earshot. Even if he weren't missed, someone would be blamed and Francine didn't like the idea of Gob or Nova taking the fall. Then there was Mr. Burke. Fashioned himself as some sort of businessman, but she saw him as a creepy drifter looking to swindle you into doing something unspeakable. She couldn’t imagine what Burke would be like behind closed doors. That cool act didn’t seem all that authentic to her. But maybe the lack of authenticity was the act.

_Another time. I’m not ready to be chased off just yet._

Burke _was_ a good nominee, though. Sufficiently repulsive when anyone actually talked to him one on one, but socially acceptable because of how he dressed and the way he spoke. It wasn’t a coincidence he sat alone.

_How many people have you hurt, Mr. Burke? What do you get out of it? Is it purely business?_

She watched as he got up and had Nova refill his drink. Nova’s face seemed friendly when she spoke with him. However, Francine recognized that hollow look in Nova’s eyes. The look of a woman that could see beyond the veil of his smile. Whatever was being said between the two, Nova didn’t truly seem thrilled about it. But she wore the lie well.

Looking at Mr. Burke again, she started to space out, imaging how he might squirm when faced with his own mortality.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were staring at me. I believe Gob calls you ‘Frankie’? Is there something on my face, Ms. Frankie?”

Francine nearly choked on her Nuka. “I’m sorry, Mr. —?”

“Burke.”

“Mr. Burke. Yes. I’m sorry. It’s… just odd to see a white suit that looks so nice. I didn’t mean anything by it.” Francine began to turn away, but he placed his hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t be like that. Let me buy you a drink. Offer you—”

She bristled at his touch and tone of voice.

“Oh.” He removed his hand quickly. “I do apologize. I am not making pass at you. You are definitely too young for my taste. ”

Nova tapped on Mr. Burke’s shoulder and pointed towards the stairs. “Don’t leave me waiting.”

“It appears I am late for an appointment.” Reaching into his jacket pocket, he handed Francine a business card with his name scrawled across the front. “If you are ever near Tenpenny Tower, look me up. I always have need for mercenaries, and I hear you are quite good.”

As Mr. Burke ascended the stairs, Nova’s eyes regained some level of life when she looked back at Francine. She stayed a few moments, still looking at Francine. With a pained expression on her face, she shifted her eyes to Mr. Burke’s back then again at Francine and shook her head. “Be careful out there…”

Francine’s heart lodged itself in her throat as Nova turned towards the stairs. _Mercenary? Why…_ **_how_ ** _does he know that? We’ve never spoken…_

A suffocating paranoia washed over her. Teeth grit and skin growing pallid, Francine looked around the bar. Who was watching? Who knew about her being a mercenary? What else did they know?

She took a second look at the card from Mr. Burke, then felt the need to heave. Quickly, Francine flew out the door. She barely made it to a secondary walkway before getting sick.

“Shit.”

Wiping her face clean and doing her best to stop shaking, she found a place away from prying eyes and gave herself a small dose of Med-X. The paranoia wouldn’t go away for awhile, but at least the vomiting and trembling would subside soon enough.

Though the paranoia was still weighing heavy on her, sitting there under the awning of some makeshift house gave her a chance to rationalize what had conspired. Ultimately, Francine decided that Gob probably mentioned it in passing. No one was watching her. Mr. Burke was just a creepy man that frequented Moriarty’s and bought drinks from Gob and Nova.

Despite the lapse in her ability to read a situation, it turned out to be a good thing. If she was looking to take out the trash, it would be better done in a place she never went. A place she could pretend to be someone else. Fake some level of charm to coax the rats out of the walls. Maybe someplace like that little cantina down by the bomb.

Ephemeral as it was, her conscience pleaded she find a better way to focus the anger. But her fear always won. Because it was fear that kept her alive, not her conscience. And fear said to get rid of anything that could hurt her. Make them suffer ten fold. Make them beg and plead and cry just like she did so many nights before she snapped.

A grim disposition enveloped her and that nuisance of a conscience was silenced. Francine didn’t feel bad for hating people that earned her ire. She felt disgusted that they were still walking around doing as they pleased. And she had every intention of correcting that.

Skulking down the side of the crater, Francine made her way to The Brass Lantern. A woman greeted her at the outdoor patio of the dive. She flashed a wide smile at her, but whatever words were exchanged, Francine wasn’t paying attention. All that mattered now was the guise of being a beautiful woman that appeared easy to talk with.

As the door inside swung open, she was hit with the strong aroma of mirelurk cakes. Wincing for a moment, she powered through the desire to gag and walked up to the bar, the smell now adding fuel to the fire of her resolve.

“What can I get you, little lady?”

“A bottle of whiskey.” Francine hummed, searching the air for another item. “Do you have any Fancy Lads?”

“We certainly do.” He handed her a bottle, glass, and the pack of snack cakes. “Want me to open a tab?”

“No. I’ve been known to wander off if I drink too much. Better to pay as I go,” she admitted in a singsong tone.

As Francine handed the man some caps he nodded his thanks, “I appreciate that honesty. Give me a holler if you need anything else.”

With a unsettlingly sweet voice she gave her thanks, and took a seat in a booth nearby. She poured herself a glass of whiskey and pretended to nurse it while preparing another syringe for later. Occasionally, Francine sipped a little of the whiskey just to have the smell on her breath. But mostly she waited.

An hour passed before a rowdy group sauntered in. The bartender seemed to know them and asked that they pay up their previous tab before serving anything else. It wasn’t long before they started telling vulgar tales of their previous nights out. Laughing about how the people they terrorized looked.

They were each a different flavor of awful, but Francine knew which on she wanted. And her presence had already been noted by him. He was a lot like the previous ones—that same overconfident gait, same wandering eyes, same mouth full of lies, same disgusting assumptions and entitlement. She would relish this.

*

“I’ve seen you around.” He sat down next to her, stinking of stale beer and radiating that foul aura.

A smile tore across Francine’s face as she turned to greet him. Leaning in close, she purred, “Have you?”

“Hot thing like you shows up in a shit hole like this? Absolutely.” He picked up her glass and downed the whiskey she hadn’t been drinking. “Now, how about I buy you another drink or two?”

“If you’re trying to loosen me up, save your money. I’m ready to go.”

Chuckling, he grabbed her arm and dragged her out of the booth.

The bartender turned his back and pretended not to notice, as she was paraded past the group, all of them whooping and hollering at the prospect of their buddy’s next story. Meanwhile, Francine was only thinking of the prize at the end of this asinine song and dance.

As they stepped out of the bar, he urged her along, “Come on, there’s an alley over here.”

She dug her heels in. “A quicky in the gutter?”

“You got a better idea?”

Francine laughed and dragged him towards the town entrance. “Yeah. My place.”

*

The door swung open and he pulled her in behind him. Francine tried to slow his pace, but he wouldn’t relent. Kissing her hard, he forced her further inside. Every fiber of her being wanted to run, but not yet. And while he was distracted with groping various parts of her anatomy, Francine pulled the Med-X needle from her sleeve and popped off the cap.

“Oh, I’m definitely gonna fuck you.”

“Actually, I think you’re getting fucked.” Francine jabbed the needle into his arm.

“Hey? What's th—” His words slurred and dropped off.

Slowly pulling the needle out, she took a few steps back and watched as he tried to process what was going on. A moment for her. A selfish, dangerous, and morally reprehensible desire. A desire to destroy just as someone once sought to destroy the very core of her. And a satisfaction in knowing the world would soon be down one waste of oxygen.

Body swaying, he collapsed onto the floor.

Pulling out a fresh needle and the vial of Med-X, Francine gave herself another dose and smiled to herself.

*

His eyes couldn't focus and his body felt heavy. How much did he drink? A faint hiss could be heard somewhere in the darkness. It was a familiar sound, but something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

_I was at that shitty dive… Something else. Someone? A woman?_

His mind refused the bring any detail of the past few hours out in the open.

The hiss interrupted his thoughts once more. It was incessant. A page in a book catching on something as it turned? Some animal? Again, and again that hiss broke the silence.

“Hello? Is someone there?”

The hissing stopped, and soft, warm glow emerged from the darkness. A torch being held by a young woman. The man took a moment, trying to remember where he knew her from. He watched her smiling face for quite some time.

Laying her torch on the ground a few feet away, she then sat over his hips.

It didn’t take long for his confusion to give way to lust as he realized she was naked. "If you wanted to play, all you had to do was ask.”

“I was worried you wouldn’t listen, Master.”

“Master? You’re some kinda freak, aren’t ya? Alright. I’ll be whatever you want. Master. Daddy. I’ll be President fucking Eden, if—” He tried to lean forward, but his arms caught behind him. “Hey, I can’t play with you, if I’m all tied up.”

"I want to be the one playing with you.” Francine scooted forward on his torso a little before laying against his body. Her hands cupped the man’s face, thumbs playing against his lips. “Did you miss me?”

Still half feeling the effects of Med-X, the man stammered, “Y-yeah I missed you. I missed—”

“I missed that look you gave me.”

“I could give it to you right now.”

“Would you?”

“Anything for you.”

She forced the man's left eye open and trickled some whiskey into it. He screamed out, cursing her. Giggling, Francine admitted, "Lately it’s difficult to come by gasoline. And I thought that on such short notice, you wouldn't mind the substitute."

"The fuck is wrong with you?! Crazy bitch! Let me go!"

“And then what? Are you just gonna walk out of here?” Francine hopped up and peeled back the blanket. Tourniquets had been secured just above his knees. His shins bloody, broken, and mangled.

“What—W-What is this? Why?!”

“Because it was fun. Don't you think it's fun?”

“No! This isn't fun! This is the furthest thing from fun!”

“Good!” she cackled. “I want you to think about all those people you and your pathetic friends were laughing about. People that didn’t deserve to be hurt. Think about them and realize that this is for them.”

“L-look, I-I didn’t do anything to you, lady! We can make a deal. Yeah? We could make a deal. J-just let me go and—”

“Where exactly are you gonna go? Do you even remember where we went? Do you know how to get back? Do you think your friends are waiting for you? Do you think they’re looking for you?” She got down on her knees next to him and patted his head. “I’m sure they’ll be here any minute now, since they’re such great guys. Right?”

“P-please!” Tears pooled in his eyes. “I have a family!”

Leaning forward, she wiped the tears from his eyes and whispered, “Then I’m doing them a favor too.”

“I'm not a bad guy! I just did one stupid thing. Please, give me a chance!”

Calmly, she rose to her feet and began to trickle whiskey on his face, then body. “Mercy isn't offered at this juncture. You're a piece of shit. You’ll always be a piece of shit.”

“But everyone deserves a second chance!”  
  
“NO! People like you deserve to suffer before you die! To be terrified! And I don't care if it turns me into the monster! My life was wonderful until you evil fucks took _everything_ from me!”

Francine took a swig of whiskey into her mouth. Picking up the small torch, she leaned forward with it arm’s length from her face and pursed her lips. A spray of alcohol erupted from her mouth, carrying the flame straight to her captive's body. He howled in agony as his skin caught fire.

“Have fun. I know I did.”


End file.
